Death or Despair
by Siri2
Summary: A day that begins well gradually turns into a nightmare with no seeming end. Now Legolas and Aragorn must remember that, no matter how dark the passage may become, there is always light at the end. So long as they can walk long enough to reach it.
1. Of Tracking Off Course

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Death or Despair

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Authors: 

Two of the 'Write' Sisters:

Sarah (the bookish, plausibility-mad realist) 

and Hannah (the crazy, starry-eyed visionary)

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Rating: PG-13 for some character-torture, 'epic battle scenes' (har har), tense situations, and angst

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Spoilers: Mild one for Jedi Quest, book 2 (see if you can spot it!), and bitty ones for Cassia and Siobhan's Mellon Chronicles, but otherwise, none.

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Background: Much of our background for this story is based on Cassia and Siobhan's Mellon Chronicles (particularly Captive of Darkness). You can read their stories under Cassia's name here on ff.net, or else on their site: www.aragorn-legolas.5u.com The complication is that we were not through writing this when they posted 'Mistaken Identity' and finally got Legolas' 'human problems' resolved, so it's already a little outdated. Still, I hope you will be able to suspend your disbelief for us, since rewriting the whole fic would take too long. : )

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Background (Tolkien): Two of the premises in our story are 1. That Aragorn was the adopted son of Elrond, and therefore brother to Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and 2. That Aragorn and Legolas were good friends prior to the Fellowship of the Ring. The first of these is true, according to Tolkien. Aragorn *was* taken to Elrond's house after the death of his father and raised there, as the elven lord's foster son, under the name of Estel, and the idea that he, Elladan, and Elrohir were close is implied by that arrangement. The second of these is conjecture, based mostly upon parts of the movie (particularly Legolas' defense of Aragorn during the Council of Elrond), but almost not at all on anything in the books. However, it is not denied either, so I hope you will enjoy the possibility, even if it cannot be considered fact! : )

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Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, and places in this fic do not belong to us, but are rather the creation of one of the most incredible authors of all time: J.R.R. Tolkien. All other characters and places are ours. We have no permission to use these characters and places, but are not being paid for our work either. : )

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Feedback: We welcome your opinions, one and all, and the more the better! A couple of notes though: please no swearing, and no flaming if our interpretation of Tolkien's world is different than yours, or anything like that. Also, literary critiquing is welcome (grammar, etc.) and we will be sure to take note of it, but just so you know: it is unlikely we will be re-editing this story as we post. Thanks! : )

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Summary: A day that begins well gradually turns into a nightmare with no seeming end. Now Legolas and Aragorn must remember that, no matter how dark the passage may become, there is always light at the end. So long as they can walk long enough to reach it.

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In Honor Of: Chloe (the elvish, angst-loving enthusiast), our little sister, for putting up with us when we drifted off into our own little world, and for poking fun at us when we began to take ourselves too seriously. Not to mention supplying those handy bits of elvish… May your aggravation with us forever remain on a safe level! : )

~and~

Cassia (the anonymous torture fic writer) and Siobhan (the mute mush shadow), for entertaining us with numerous stories, planting the Aragorn/Legolas fic-writing bug in our brains, and convincing us that joint authoring really *isn't* an impossibility. May your pencils forever scribble! : )

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Text: //thoughts//, *italics*

And now, with no further rambling (we see you all gasping in relief, so don't bother trying to hide), let the story begin…

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Chapter 1

Of Tracking Off Course

The rush of the breeze gently buffeted across the plains, shifting through the foliage and combing through the grasses: causing a rough scratching noise to rise into the air. The wind whistled as it passed through the formations of rock close by, echoing on into the vastness of the wide, flat lands. 

Legolas Greenleaf carefully bent down to inspect yet a further clue of another's presence. 

Not often before had he had a need to track prey through the plains and indeed he was not accustomed to the differences in technique. He had a vague idea that he was making progress, but he could hardly know. He studied the clue and decided he had not been wrong. 

A footprint. 

The dark earth was crusted over with lighter dirt that had been baked by the rays of the sun. In this earth he could see the darker tones from below seeping towards the surface in the perfect outline of a footprint. Legolas smiled slightly: his prey would not escape him now.

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Atop a great formation of rock the man crouched, staring out at the wide grasses as the wind picked up gradually, buffeting him lightly. Dark hair flew in his face and curled around his chin, but he brushed it idly aside and continued to watch for the being who should have been close behind him. 

The sky had begun to transform from the pale blue of day to the stained crimson of sunset, sapphire melding with red and streaking the horizon a vibrant amethyst. 

Aragorn looked up; he could not hide his worry as the colors of the sinking sun deepened to night, announcing the coming of the moon. //Where is Legolas?//

The ranger had been preparing to return to Rivendell from a visit in Mirkwood when the argument had begun. Legolas had offered to come with him as far as the High Pass, Aragorn had agreed and the two had set out a few days before, but on the way there Aragorn had, quite casually, asked his friend how well he could track through plains. Legolas had then said that he did not have need to track through the plains often — that he usually needed to track through the trees.

"The trees offer more signs of passage than do the plains," Aragorn had argued. "You can not depend on your tracking abilities until you are certain you can track in any environment."

"I could track *you*in the plains if I had need to, my friend," Legolas had shot back.

It was then that Aragorn had decided a test of his friend's boast. Having gotten a head start, he had run into the midst of the lowlands, disappearing from even his friend's line of sight. Legolas was to follow the clues and find the ranger.

Now night had nearly covered the sky and there was no sign of the elf prince. Aragorn shifted his weight, staring down the inclining slope: from his vantage point he could see a great distance across the plains, but he did not have the keen eyes of the elves and could not find his friend that way. As the first stars began to peer through the thickening blanket of night, Aragorn decided it was time to track down the elf.

He moved down the rock side to the ground and landed easily by the formation. He himself was an excellent tracker and even with night closing in he could retrace his steps all the way back to where the two had begun. 

He found Legolas' tracks with only some difficulty. Though his friend was light of foot and didn't leave much of a mark on the ground, he had not often been in these lands and the imprints in the grasses were clear enough to easily make out. Aragorn could see that Legolas had followed him up to the patch of scrub brush near one of the few trees in sight. Here the ranger had left a clue of disturbed brush to lead the elf to the right, but he could see immediately that Legolas had misread the signs — his trail clearly indicated that he'd gone to the left.

Aragorn had to hide a smile. It was surprising to find something he could do far better than the elf and he couldn't help being amused. Even so, he knew he had to find his friend before the elf got into trouble. There were creatures that hunted and roamed the grassy plains at night searching for lost and wandering prey, and Legolas was most definitely lost. 

Aragorn picked up his friend's direction instantly and began to follow it.

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Legolas was beginning to feel a very vivid frustration. Aragorn had left next to impossible clues in his wake and following him was proving to be harder than the prince had originally thought. The human's tracks were quickly getting confused with the simple impressions of other creatures or disturbances of the wind. 

His golden hair whipped around in his face and he had to push it away to study the ground. The breeze was gradually dying down now, but still it was making his task much harder.

He could not decide if the clue he'd found was a footprint, or simply a collapse in the earth. He stood up straight and scanned his eyes across the plains, knowing all the while that trying to find Aragorn this way was futile: his friend would be well hidden, and even keen elvish eyes could not see that far. So instead he stooped once more to follow the trail in the ground. 

Before long the prints seemingly led him to a large knotted tree, standing like a gnarled sentinel in the failing light. It was dipping low towards the waving grass and Legolas instantly began to search it for some manner of evidence that Aragorn had been there. He could see clearly that someone had disrupted the few twigs near the ground; they had been trampled by some creature and he took it as the next clue. 

Looking again at it to be sure of his direction he began to walk again, heading roughly west, and concentrated hard on the ground, searching for another disturbance or another print. 

"Legolas, what are you doing?" The voice startled the elf and he jumped slightly, whirling to face his attacker...and found Aragorn. The young man was standing with his arms folded, his weight slightly shifted to his left leg, and a smile playing about his face.

"Strider!" Legolas exclaimed in barely veiled annoyance. "I was tracking you."

Aragorn's smile gave up all pretences of being hidden. "You were?" He questioned mildly. "I'm not sure what you were tracking, good elf, but you most certainly were not tracking me."

Legolas glared at him, but the glare was short lived. He let out a sigh. "I suppose you've found something you can best me at then, human."

Aragorn knelt down in the ground to grab up a fistful of earth, letting the wind carry it across the lowlands. "Maybe," he conceded. "And maybe you only need more practice."

"I don't see when I'll ever need to track anything across plains," Legolas pointed out. "I am always among trees."

"That doesn't mean that the thing you are tracking always will be," Aragorn countered with a smile. The ranger looked around the plains and let out breath, "You are determined to make me late, and you know my father will not appreciate that. He expected me back within the month."

"Your father *still* expects you to return at certain times?" Legolas asked in astonishment.

"He sometimes has the urge to worry about me," Aragorn granted. "And, in no way helping my situation, Elladan and Elrohir worry even more. It will not always be so — as it is, my arriving a week or so later than planned no longer bothers them — but until the adjustment is finally completed, I do not wish to give them cause for concern. Besides which, there are the other Dúnedain to consider." Aragorn paused and looked up at the sky, the stars were glittering far above in the dark blanket of night, and a chill was starting to set in. "It's far too late to continue our journey now, so I suppose we should set up camp here."

"I agree," Legolas nodded.

"Good," Aragorn slid his travel pack from his shoulder. "Then you can retrieve wood for a fire." Legolas' annoyed look was not lost on the human. "Well," Aragorn said reasonably, "it *is* your fault that the hour has grown so late." 

Legolas shook his head and turned towards a patch of scrub brush a good distance away. 

"Please don't get lost Legolas," Aragorn added, causing the elf to look over his shoulder, "I don't want to have to track you again, especially not in this light."

Legolas smiled lightly, "Do not worry about that, Strider," he started to walk away again, "I would not give you another thing to lord over me."

Aragorn laughed and shook his head as he started a fire with what wood he already had nearby.

The inky darkness had deepened even further and it was becoming much more difficult to see far, even with the faint glow of the waning moon — still Legolas was confident that he would find his way back. He began to pick up pieces of wood as he walked, singing a song in his own tongue as he did so. 

Having collected a great amount of wood by the time he reached the scrub brush, he wasn't sure he would need any more after all. He reached down to lift an especially good sized branch that must have been blown down from a tree, and that's when he saw it. Even in the failing light he could make it out: the clear paw print of a wolf. 

Legolas studied it a moment longer, noticing that it was fresh. There were more tracks like it farther on, and they were all heading in the direction of — Suddenly a cry of alarm rang out, slicing the night between Aragorn and Legolas and leaving it in fluttering shreds.

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TBC…


	2. Fire, Smoke and Wolves

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Thank you to everyone who posted! Sarah and I are really pleased that you're liking it already : )

Well Chloe we're just going to hope that you don't go and read our story and until then we'll hide all existing documents ; )

As for Aragorn being the better tracker on the plains, we felt like he was because in TTT he was the only one who tracked Merry and Pippin across the plains at all and we felt like Legolas couldn't *possibly* be good at *everything* ; )

Sorry we left you on a cliffy already! Hope this clears it up a bit!

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Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 2

Fire, Smoke and Wolves

Casting the bundle of wood aside, Legolas drew out his bow and turned his face swiftly back towards the distant camp site. A faint rustle and a breath of air behind him was all the warning he had. Spinning in place, his sharp eyes cutting through the darkness like twin daggers, he loosed the arrow almost before his mind realized what had sprung at him. The feathered shaft caught the creature in the chest, throwing it backwards with a snarling howl, and then another shape identical to it leapt for the elf's head. Drawing a second arrow even as he stepped back, he loosed it directly for the horrible thing's eye and then stepped further aside as the dead body, carried on by the tremendous momentum of it's jump, hurtled past him and tumbled to the earth. He had been correct: they were wolves. 

A long howl rent the night air and the elf could hear the horrible snarls and battle yells that marked his friend's own fight with the awful beasts carried to him on the wind. Taking to his heals before a third animal could arrive to hinder him, he sped through the waving grass and shrubs, dark blue in the dim moonlight, towards the distant orange glow and dark shapes standing out against it.

Aragorn had taken up a fighting stance in the middle of the ring of light, his back to the fire, his sword in one hand, and a burning brand in the other. Even as the elf came close enough to clearly see what was happening, a more foolhardy animal made a direct spring for the man and was first stabbed in the chest, and then slammed backwards by a mighty thrust with the torch. For a little it rolled frantically on the grass to rid it's coat of the searing flames, and then it's heart gave out and it lay still. No one had time to notice, for Aragorn was too busy with two more that had come in towards his legs, Legolas was trying to shoot his way through the circle to help his friend, and the wolves were discovering that their prey was not as helpless as it had first appeared. Still they fought on, a mad animal fury burning in their eyes; slashing, leaping, taking advantage of any gap in the companions' defenses.

Running in swiftly, one wolf landed it's front paws on Legolas' shoulders, trying to pull him onto his back and leave his throat open for a killing bite. Pulling the last arrow from his quiver, Legolas stabbed it backwards into the head of the creature, stumbling as the weight lifted from him and the animal tumbled nearly under his feet, tripping him up. Stringing the still bloody arrow onto his bow, he gave one last shot into the darkness, aiming for the glistening of teeth, and was rewarded with a silent thud as the animal died instantly, the shaft having penetrated it's brain through the roof of it's mouth. Casting the worthless bow aside, Legolas drew his knives and slashed twice, the first thrust slitting the throat of one wolf, the second missing and taking off an ear instead. With a growl the injured carnivore sprang directly for the elf's chest.

Aragorn plunged the brand unswervingly between one wolf's eyes, not reveling in the hideous yells and animal cursings, but not having time to think beyond the here and now either. Swinging his blade low, he caught a large beast's front paws, removing one and disabling the other, sending the creature nose first into the grass. From beyond the ring of bodies, he had seen Legolas running to his aid, but now he could not tell where the elf had gone. Spinning round the slowly dwindling fire, the ranger thrust out his boot to stop the inrush of another brute, slamming his glowing brand into it's side and sending it tumbling away, it's coat also on fire. Then he saw a flash of swinging gold as, just beyond the light, Legolas spun away from the ferocious leap of one slavering animal. As the elf moved, his foot caught on the body of one of the fallen beasts and his motion was slowed, not taking him out of the wolf's path swiftly enough.

As the wolf caught his side in passing, it's claws dug in briefly and Legolas felt a sudden pain shoot straight through him. Trying to move around to face the animal, he nonetheless knew that the wolf would have righted itself already and he did not have enough time to turn. Even as he made the effort, he felt the change in the air as the hairy beast sprang at him again, a hoarse yell of triumph in it's throat. And then there was a flash of flame as a spinning torch flew out of no where, end over end, and caught the wolf directly in the side of it's head, changing it's triumph to yowling pain as it fell away.

Taking advantage of the momentary lull, Legolas took several lightening steps forward and, with a spring, landed next to his friend, who was already stooping to lift another brand from the fire. "Many thanks." The elf greeted briefly and the human nodded in return, drawing his blade back and thrusting it forward to catch one wolf in the throat before swinging it back and cleaving a second beast's neck nearly in two.

Closer to the fire the wolves were not quite as active, fearing the yellow flames and the scorching kiss of the Dúnadan's weapon, but still they leapt inwards, driven near mad with hunger and rage. And the fire was dying down. Legolas wished desperately for the bundle of kindling he'd abandoned out in the wind and shadows, but it was beyond recovery, and even as he slew yet another wolf and kicked it's body aside, one of the last pieces of wood still flaming broke in a shower of sparks. The flame died down into red embers and the wind drove away the sparks, flickering and dying in the dark night. With the light lessened, the pack closed in, snarling and snapping.

One swing of his sword caught at least three of the creatures, but a fourth bounded over the red coals and sank it's teeth into the man's shoulder, causing him to jerk and nearly fall into the small fire. Leaning forward, feeling the fangs tear painfully free of his shoulder, Aragorn nearly fell on his hands and knees as the wolf finally released him and tumbled backwards. There was a screaming yowl as the animal fell into the embers, it's coat igniting and the smell of burning flesh filling the air before it too was driven away by the wind.

Working furiously, Legolas tried to keep his friend covered while he rose, but there were too many and they were coming too fast. Two leaping at the elf at once drove him to the earth, one's snapping jaws coming within a hair's width of latching onto Legolas' neck. Then, in quick succession, the second wolf attacked it's own companion in a vicious desire to claim the prize for it's own, and, even as it won it's victory, the elf's knife sank into it's belly. Rolling quickly aside to avoid being pinned, Legolas slid to his feet again.

Trying to regain his balance even as he defended his life, Aragorn wondered vaguely what his brothers would say about this vindication of their worries when they found out what had happened. If they ever did. Then from three sides there came the rush of hairy bodies, one flying towards his legs, hoping to drag him down, the second and third both coming straight for his midsection. Simultaneously stabbing downwards to halt the rush of the first one, and throwing his brand directly into the open mouth of the second, he had only just brought his blade out to face the third when it slammed into him. Gasping as the breath left his body, he felt the claws as they dug into his chest and waited for the final tear that would remove his throat and end his life. The wolf holding him down wasn't moving. Looking up with a faint puzzlement, Aragorn found himself confronted with wide open jaws, rows of yellow teeth, saliva still dripping from them, a brilliantly red tongue — and two clouded eyes.

Even as he flung away one of his daggers in a last attempt to keep himself from being overrun, Legolas could feel the sense of the pack changing. They seemed to be shifting, changing direction, and a moment later, with many a snarling howl, they slunk off through the grass, turning on their own wounded as a source of food instead. Breathing deeply, both from relief and sudden weariness, he turned to find his friend.

For a moment Legolas feared that the young man was dead, but then he caught sight of the glittering tip of the ranger's sword protruding from the large wolf's back. A moment later the body shifted as it's intended prey struggled out from under it. Helping to lift the creature, though it pained his side, Legolas assisted his friend to his feet and glanced at the dead carnivore. "That was a fine thrust, Strider."

Aragorn managed the ghost of a clipped laugh, his own chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, "I could not have done it without this fine animal's aid: he was so eager for my throat that he neglected to notice what stood in between him and his goal."

Legolas shook his head, eyebrows rising faintly, "Well, I must say, if I ever doubted the stars you were born under, I never will again."

For a moment they remained where they were, the wind whistling past their ears. Around them they could see the bodies of at least thirty wolves, and could only guess at the number hidden by the grass; their many carcasses telling of a great pack. It was astonishing, Aragorn knew, that he and Legolas were not both dead.

Each turning back to look at his heavily bloodied friend, the human and the elf nearly asked the same question at the same time.

"How much of that is yours?"

Aragorn gave a wry smile, finding it easier than he would have thought, "Not much. Still, we should probably clean ourselves up before settling down for the night. Wolf bites can become easily infected."

Shoving the corpses roughly away, Legolas left to retrieve the wood he had abandoned and Aragorn searched in his torn pack for some of the medicines his father always insisted that he carry. Using the light from the renewed flames, the two companions bound each other's wounds, trying to make light of their hurts for the other's benefit, and not fooling one another at all. Putting a last touch on Legolas' bandaged side, Aragorn helped him to refasten his tunic as well as he could with a stiff shoulder.

"A more handsome pair you could never hope to see." The Dúnadan commented dryly. "And you *did* manage to track something after all."

The elf sighed, "Aragorn, must you bring that up?"

Chuckling softly, the young man consoled his friend, "You have to begin somewhere, Legolas. I began with Elladan: you should consider yourself fortunate. Now let us sleep. There will be no more attacks tonight, not with our recent victory surrounding us." He nodded his head lightly towards the dead wolves.

Legolas agreed, finding himself too weary to protest. It was a strange sensation to him, as elves very seldom became weary in that way, but he had lost more blood than he knew, and the past days of travel had prevented him from sleeping as often as he should have. Lying down with their backs to the fire and their retrieved weapons close at hand, the two friends dropped off into a sound slumber.

On towards morning the fire had nearly died out, but, unnoticed, some of the long, green grasses had leaned inwards to rest on the embers. There was no sound as they smoldered quietly, but a long stream of smoke began to rise lazily upwards.

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TBC…


	3. The Touch of Ghosts

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Sarah here! Sorry we're a little late, but I'm *so* glad you're liking it! I'm having a great time reading your feedback. : )

No, of course we won't make you suffer! We happen to actually be fairly nice people, whatever you may think from our cliffies. ; ) The Jedi Quest spoiler had to do with the scene where Obi-Wan and Anakin are tracking Wren on Ragoon-6.

On the subject of the bow: Oops! I really didn't ever think about it one way or the other, but I suppose if I had, I might very well have altered it for the excellent reasons you listed. Good eye! However, I should warn you, this whole story is likely to cause Tolkien to roll over in his grave *frequently*: i.e. there will be many other such instances of inattention to detail. *sigh* We can't all be brilliant authors, unfortunately. ; )

Chloe: 1. Amazing! I thought nothing could put you off wolves… 2. Shall we put a little triangular green symbol on all Legolas' arrows now? 3. I *can't* write fight scenes. 4. As it happens, I *do* have a sister like the one you mentioned, but I'm afraid I'll have to say that she's actually something of a pill, especially when she posts feedback. And no, as it happens, I don't trust her. ; )

Who said we were going to stop at cooking them? : )

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Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 3

The Touch of Ghosts

There was no warning, neither of the tired travelers even heard them coming. Suddenly Aragorn was aware of a cold edge of steel across the side of his face. He jerked awake, startled, his eyes darting around the camp. 

He immediately saw the fire pit, but in the morning light there were not even embers smoldering in the scorched piece of ground. He could see Legolas across from him, obviously only just waking as well: he too had a blade pressed against his throat, held by a large human with dark hair and numerous scars across his face and neck. 

As Aragorn's gaze roved on, he saw many such cruel men surrounding them, digging through the travelers' things in search valuables and prodding at the wolf carcasses. There were about ten all together, well armed, and all looked highly dangerous, covered in the scars of vicious battles and hardened by more than wind and sun. And every one of them with cold eyes now resting on the two captives. Though Aragorn did not know all there was to be known about the world outside Rivendell, he knew enough to recognize the dreaded Corsairs of Umbar. The pirates and slave traders had made a name for themselves that was much feared in Middle Earth.

The ranger tried to struggle away, but all he received was a cuff across his injured shoulder. Legolas flinched slightly as his friend collapsed to the side and Aragorn felt pain rip up his arm, but he tried hard to ignore it. As he regathered himself and sat up slowly once again, he could see a vivid fear in his friend's eyes. The elf looked unnaturally terrified and this concerned Aragorn more deeply even than his own predicament.

His attention was quickly deterred, though, as he heard a biting laugh from the one holding the blade to his head.

"You are indeed foolish travelers," the man smirked, "letting your fire smoke like that, you may as well have walked to us with open arms."

"Quiet Oeruil!" A voice cut in sharply. The speaker was much like the others in some ways, but he was taller and stronger looking, and his eyes held a specially cruel gleam that made Aragorn shudder inwardly. "Bind them." He ordered in a commanding, but gruff tone. One of the men, the one called Oeruil, pulled out a length of rough cord and started to wrap it tightly around Aragorn's wrists. The ranger began to thrash around violently — he could not go without a struggle — but the two were still weary from their battle with the wolves and in no condition to fight off a crew of Corsairs. The men closed in to hold him down and were met with little difficulty, but in that moment of distraction, Legolas moved. 

The elf sprung to his feet, twisted away from the man holding him, and, reaching down to grab up his twin daggers still laying discarded nearby, quickly whirled in time to drive one into the man behind him. The man stumbled back, letting out a strangled cry. Legolas leapt swiftly to the side, dodging the lunge of one of the men, and thrusting the other dagger into one of the men holding Aragorn. Even as he did he felt the man's dagger slice across his cheek, delving deeply into his fair skin like a line of flame. Legolas grimaced and pulled back, wrenching his second dagger from the man's body. "Get him down!" The captain barked angrily. 

All the men, with the exception of the captain and Oeruil, who was still holding Aragorn, moved in on Legolas slowly. The elf stood at the ready, prepared to break through even as they blocked him in their tight circle. 

One of the men dodged forward and Legolas slashed at him, clipping the man's arm deeply. Another threw a blow towards his head, but Legolas easily dodged, and the same man then threw a kick into his side. A scream of fiery hot pain shot up Legolas' side as the wound that had been healing over night was again opened. Seeing the reaction, the man kicked him in the side again. Legolas cried out and sank to his knees. A man from the other side took the elven weapon away as the first threw another vicious kick into the elf's wounded side. Legolas clenched his eyes shut and tried not to cry out again, but the pain was tearing him apart — he felt another kick in his side and lost the control: letting out a moan of pain, he closed his fists tightly and curled inwards on the ground.

"Enough." The captain commanded. All the men but one broke off, this one wrenching Legolas' wrists around and binding them tightly behind his back. "They'll be worthless enough without damaging them further." The captain's calculating eyes slid from Legolas to Aragorn. "Though I think we could get a decent price for them. Take them to the Lhimlug. Now!" The men moved quickly to obey their leader's order.

Oeruil pulled the Dúnadan roughly to his feet and it took two to drag Legolas up. Aragorn's heart beat rapidly as he threw a concerned look at his friend. Legolas' face had turned momentarily gray and Aragorn saw pain etched deeply in the elf's eyes, but elves healed quickly and Legolas was strong. There was clearly something else troubling the prince, but Aragorn could not discern what.

The two were dragged from their campsite, and further also, Aragorn knew, from Rivendell. He clenched his fists behind him, feeling frustration ripple through him at being caught entirely unprepared and unalert, and for drawing the Corsairs right to them by letting their fire smoke. He knew that their battle with the wolves had drained them and taken a terrible toll on their strength, but even so he deeply wished he had been more careful. 

After a time, Aragorn knew not how long, they reached the destination for which he had been certain they were bound: the river Anduin. The Corsairs had docked their ship right against the bank, and the vessel loomed high above them, billowing black sails soaking in the scorching sun. 

"Welcome to the Lhimlug, slave," Oeruil sneered very close to Aragorn's ear.

The two captives were forced up the gang plank to the vessel's top deck, where, without hesitation, the Corsairs halted both elf and human in front of the hatch that led to the bottom hold and shoved them in. The drop was about four and a half feet; a shallow hold, but a painful landing. Aragorn looked up at the ceiling, realizing in dismay that he could not completely stand. 

Legolas landed hard on his side and gasped, rolling off his wound and staring up at the underside of the ship's deck. The belly of the ship was pitch black; Aragorn attempted to get his bearings, but nothing was clear and even the faintest outlines were difficult to distinguish. Fumbling with his bound hands he tried to locate Legolas, who, with his hands tied behind him, could not get upright. He found his friend laying limply on the cold planks, breathing raggedly.

"Legolas," Aragorn whispered quietly, "are you all right?" Legolas didn't answer for a long moment, then he nodded, though Aragorn could not see.

"I am well." Contrary to his statement, his voice was laced with pain and Aragorn quickly tried to help his friend sit, but with his hands bound, though in front, he couldn't seem to manage it.

"Here," a voice broke through the darkness, accompanied by a sharp clank of chains, "let me help you." Aragorn felt someone grasped his arm gently and steady him, then another pair of hands helped Legolas sit against the wall of the hold. "Sit back and shut your eyes for a moment," the voice advised, "it helps you grow accustomed to the darkness." Aragorn nodded and shut his eyes. He felt the total darkness for a moment, then he opened his eyes once again: the images seemed to clear and he could make out Legolas, as well as two others, in the dark hold.

"Thank you," Legolas murmured quietly.

"It is well, friend," the man answered. "I am Kelegalen of Rohan."

"A pleasure to meet you," Aragorn returned. "I am called Strider, Ranger of the North."

"And I am Legolas of Mirkwood." Aragorn heard Legolas' voice speak nearby him; he was relieved to hear the pain in his friend's voice ebbing away.

There was a pause, as of surprise, at the sound of Legolas' fair voice, heard clearly by all for the first time. "And might you be an elf, Master Legolas?" The man of Rohan queried softly.

Legolas assented and there was a feeling almost of awed respect emanating from those near them, in spite of the fact that they were all caged in the same prison. "Well, it is good to meet you both." Kelegalen replied softly. "This is Stavhold, also from Rohan." He referred to the man by his side who had steadied Aragorn.

"Greetings." Stavhold nodded and Aragorn was surprised that he could make out the movement.

"Where exactly are we?" Aragorn questioned.

"We are on the ship Lhimlug, under Captain Seregoer of Umbar." Kelegalen answered, still in the same quiet voice. "They have been collecting slaves all up the Anduin, as I understand."

"How many slaves are here?" Aragorn asked, distinguishing the shapes of many captives in the hold.

"Over seventy." Stavhold responded calmly, but Aragorn was amazed at the quantity. 

"Where are they taking us?" Legolas questioned, struggling to pull away from the wall. Aragorn reached out a hand in the darkness to steady him. 

"I know not." Stavhold shook his head. "This place is filled with evil enough without foreseeing our future doom. Twelve have died already and I fear that same fate for many of the others here. The Corsairs are a cruel band."

"They have no mercy," Legolas said, a quiet despair underlying his tone. "They have no pity." Aragorn turned to look at Legolas, who was becoming clearer in the darkness all the time, and he could see that the elf was looking at no one...and nothing.

Before another word could be spoken there was a clank and groan as the hatch was unbolted and opened. A Corsair descended the steps that Aragorn and Legolas had been thrown down, a lantern in hand, and as it cast it's light outward, Aragorn could clearly see for the first time the interior of the hold, and the faces Kelegalen and Stavhold. Indeed, there were many other slaves farther down, all chained to the walls. Some were huddled together — others tried to isolate themselves in their own quiet misery. 

The Corsair was followed by two others who harshly jerked the bonds from Aragorn's hands and clamped on iron chains instead, binding him to wall like the others, and then they went to do the same to Legolas. One grabbed him harshly on the arm—

The elf reacted suddenly to the treatment. Pushing away violently, he tried to loose himself from the man's grasp, raw fear plain in his gray-blue eyes. 

His terror-filled gaze locked on Aragorn, begging him to help, but the ranger was confused. Did Legolas truly think he could escape? The elf bit back a cry as the other Corsair grabbed his other arm and pressed him firmly against floor, pinning him hard.

It had happened before in nightmares, but nightmares had never been this vivid. The hands, calloused from years of pulling at the rigging, clutching at him and holding him helpless. The smell of salt, tar, wood and sweat surrounding him and showing him the clear picture of a man, bearded and squinting. It was the same all over again…

"Legolas!" Aragorn tried to get the elf's attention, but Legolas was too wrapped up in some horrific memory to hear, struggling and twisting under the Corsair's grasp. One struck him viciously on one cheek, jerking the elf's head hard to the side, and Legolas seemed to snap entirely; twisting and writhing, making himself almost impossible to grasp, he lashed out hard and tried yet to shrink away at the same time. However, his panic had momentarily overridden his usually superior tactics and finally, slamming him hard against the bulkhead, the Corsairs clasped the bonds around his wrists and left him firmly anchored to the wall.

"This one will be dead by dawn," the first sneered as the three Corsairs turned to leave, the lantern light disappearing and leaving the hold once again in utter darkness as the hatch slammed to. 

Legolas was still struggling, but now it was with the chains holding him helpless instead of the men. Jerking his head away, as if trying to avoid seeing something, or dodge a blow, he shut his eyes and clenched his fists tightly.

"Legolas!" Aragorn exclaimed; reaching out one chained hand he grasped his friend's arm. The sudden touch sent Legolas into a fresh panic, the events of long ago were now vivid in his mind, and he would not, and could not release them. "Legolas, it is I," Aragorn whispered urgently in the elven tongue. "Please do not fear me." He gave a reassuring squeeze to the elf's arm and something at last seemed to register in Legolas' frightened eyes. He calmed slightly and his breath gradually slowed to a normal level. 

"Aragorn…" Legolas whispered in confusion.

"I am here, Legolas." Aragorn moved as close as he could get to his friend, hoping the elf could make him out in the darkness. "I am right here." He reached out and grasped Legolas' hand and felt it shaking beneath his touch. "Are you all right?" Aragorn asked in a quiet tone, when Legolas had finally ceased to shiver. 

"I am well." Legolas nodded slightly. 

"Do you wish to speak of your fear?" Aragorn prodded gently.

Legolas shook his head, replying simply, "I have no good memory of the Corsairs." There was a pause, silence, except for the creaking of the ship's timbers, covering them all. "I am sorry my friend," the elf apologized suddenly, sweat still cooling on his forehead. "I am faced with disturbing memories in my past and at times they control my emotions. It should not be so."

Aragorn nodded, he could well understand this. He was only sorry his friend had to be pulled through such shadows once again.

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The closed quarters of the hold were miserable accommodations for the slaves. There was no open air and the stale smell of the lower deck was beginning to make Aragorn ill. He could see that Legolas was deathly pale and most of the time the elf sat with his head against his knees, breathing slowly and speaking to no one.

Aragorn tried to offer his friend comfort and Legolas was grateful, but mostly the prince preferred to be left alone. It was the only peace Aragorn could grant.

For only a half of an hour every day, slaves in groups of six were taken up to the deck and chained to the main mast. During this period alone were they allowed a breath of fresh air and a departure from the cruel conditions down below.

It was on the third day of their journey that the ship docked at the side of the river for the first time since their capture, and Legolas and Aragorn, as well as four others, were chained firmly to the mast. 

Aragorn watched in relief as his friend soaked in the cool air and the energy from the last rays of the sun, some of the color slowly returning to the elf's pale cheeks. The ranger was grateful for the air as well and took several deep breaths, closing his mind and, for a moment, attempting to forget all the evils around him.

"I wonder where we have docked," Kelegalen murmured close to Aragorn's ear. The Dúnadan opened his eyes and stared out at the grassy hills directly before him. He was suddenly overcome with a great longing to break the chains that bound him and Legolas to this captivity and escape across the hills, but he knew it was impossible, so he banished the thought from his mind and instead studied the many Corsairs beginning to gather by the gang plank. He shook his head, not knowing.

Legolas' keen eyes probed the hills and he frowned, "I see smoke gathering above the horizon..." He trailed off and turned to the two human's next to him. "I fear we may have stopped for another raid."

Kelegalen's eyes were grim as he nodded. "Indeed, sir elf," he murmured quietly, "in the weeks of my travel up this river with these accursed barbarians I have seen many raids. Every one yields yet another crop of poor condemned souls to be used by the Corsairs for their own evils."

Legolas didn't reply as he watched several of the Corsairs descend the gang plank that stretched down to the ground and his eyes were filled with memories of some distant pain, regarding which he would not speak. 

For a moment, Aragorn considered crying an alarm to the helpless people on the other side of the hills, but being as he was down wind from them, and with the Corsair guards on every side, he knew it was a useless endeavor. Useless indeed, for neither his voice nor any other's could possibly reach beyond the rolling hills before them, however this did not dampen his desperate longing to call out to the people, to give them the warning that he and Legolas had not had, before it was too late. 

But it was already too late. The Corsairs disappeared along the path leading around the bends into the midst of the hills; the light was failing and darkness was coming on as the last rays of sunlight were banished from the sky. 

It was not long before the cries of terror and screams of anguish drifted across to the prisoners. Legolas mentally flinched upon every cry, and Aragorn tried desperately to block out the sounds of the raid, but to no avail. Kelegalen, he saw, was staring emotionlessly out at the hills that hid the ruthless carnage on the other side. Aragorn realized suddenly that Kelegalen had indeed witnessed great evil on his long journey since capture — this man of Rohan understood the fear and despair of those beyond their sight, for he had seen it before and the images were firmly imprinted on his mind.

None of the slaves spoke a word or barely drew a breath as the raid continued on, but, even so, there could be no silence. There was no peace, and the air seemed to turn hard with the brutality of the Corsairs. It occurred to Aragorn then — as he turned his gaze to Legolas, who was staring out across the hills, pain dimming the natural light in his eyes — that whatever the Corsairs had done to his friend the first time, what would a second bout do to one lone soul? Aragorn pushed the thought away...he really didn't want to think of it.

After a time there came the echo of the Corsairs' return. Legolas heard the sounds first, the piteous cries of those in pain, the decisive clank of chains and, worst of all, the ruthless laughter of their captors. Soon all of the slaves chained to the mast could hear them and each felt a bitter ache move through them.

By count Aragorn could see at least fifteen more slaves as they were prodded roughly up the gang plank, his eyes searched the face of each miserable creature as they were led towards the hold.

"Barbarians." Kelegalen spat, glaring at the line of prisoners. "Ruthless cutthroats. They would take captive a mere child for their dirty purposes." Aragorn followed the man's gaze to a young boy, perhaps ten, staring fearfully around him, his eyes continually falling on the horrible, scarred Corsairs that loomed on all sides. Aragorn saw Legolas' face tighten as the elf watched the child shoved down into the hold by rough, pitiless hands.

Aragorn let out a breath into the now cold air, and watched as the hatch was thrown shut once more, the work of chaining the newest captives already completed. Before long the Corsairs, still reveling in their success, shoved off from the bank and continued on down the river. 

Finally one of the Corsairs noticed the prisoners and sneered, "You've all had far beyond your share up here." He motioned to several others and each unchained a slave from the mast. Then they too were all thrown down below and chained back to the wall once more. Aragorn could barely see the new prisoners in the darkness after the glare of the dying sun outside, but he could hear the other slaves moving to help the piteous band, gently assisting each to sit against the wall of the hold, which was now cramped with the many bodies of slaves.

"From Fladweth," Stavhold murmured the name of the small village quietly from beside Aragorn. In the darkness the ranger could see him shake his head. "It shall come to ruin." 

Aragorn leaned against the wall and shut his eyes, trying to block out the gloom around him, trying to banish the fear and suffering, but he could not — not when it moved in the air, and when it whispered so near his heart. 

Aragorn tried to will sleep to come, but it was a restless slumber that he finally sank into.

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Aragorn woke from his fitful sleep with a start — he did not know what had woken him and he looked around quickly for immediate danger. However, there was none other than what was obvious before his eyes.

Most of the slaves had fallen into much the same restless sleep as he, though there were a few who had been captives here long that were sunk into a blessedly deep slumber. 

Aragorn could tell it was the middle of the night and from the slits above him in the deck he could barely make out the flash of stars in the dark, clear blanket of sky. He leaned back and turned to see Legolas. The elf lay with his head against his knees, his hair draped limply across his shoulders. And his eyes—

Aragorn jolted slightly in shock before hastening to remind himself of what Legolas had told him. //Sometimes elves sleep with their eyes closed...//

Still, he was worried. When he had questioned his father, Elrond, of this, Elrond had said that many elves that sleep with their eyes shut did so because of extreme fatigue or pain. Aragorn dreaded to think that either afflicted his friend, but he could do nothing and he had to admit his own fatigue as he sat in the dark hold. 

Gently he brushed Legolas' shoulder with one hand; the elf did not even react beyond releasing a quiet breath. Having assured himself that his friend was alive, he settled back against the wall.

"Sleep evades you as well," a voice observed softly from the wall across from Aragorn.

"Yes, Kelegalen." Aragorn stared up until he could locate the man in the darkness. "I am not accustomed to such places."

Kelegalen smiled mirthlessly. "I do not believe any truly grow accustomed to places such as these, Strider." Aragorn did not speak for a moment.

"Where were you captured, Kelegalen?" He asked finally.

"Far down the river from here," Kelegalen's tone changed to distant reflection. "It was a month and four days back from this present day." He shook his head slightly in obvious surprise at how long ago it had truly been.

"You must miss it." Aragorn whispered, more speaking from his own feelings than anything he could truly assume from Kelegalen. The man let out a breath.

"I had nothing left to live for there; all I had was taken from me." Aragorn straightened slightly and the man continued to explain. "I had no family left but my brother, my wife and my young son." Kelegalen's voice held the echoes of a pain long buried. "But the thilwum fever took them all away from me, within days of each other. I was left with nothing, and when the Corsairs came I had naught but my own pointless life to defend."

Aragorn marveled at the man's endurance; until this moment he had never suspected that this man — so quick to aid others, so sure of what he believed in — could truly be so lost and alone. 

"I cannot begin to understand your pain," Aragorn admitted quietly. "My true father and mother were taken from me, but I was blessed with a new father, two brothers...and Legolas." He added turning to his friend's sleeping form and, for the first time, letting a smile escape him. Kelegalen smiled slightly as well.

"To have a father, brothers and a faithful friend are indeed blessings, Strider of the North." He reached out with one manacled hand and placed it on Aragorn's knee. "Treasure them." He said softly. "Treasure them with all your heart."

Aragorn nodded and turned his eyes back to Legolas. "I do," he whispered.

Kelegalen eventually fell asleep against the side of the rocking vessel, but Aragorn could not; his mind dwelled on his home, on his father, on Elladan and Elrohir. Would he ever see them again? Would he and Legolas ever escape their captivity?

//Yes.//

Aragorn swore it with all certainty, he would not let them remain slaves like this. He would not fail himself, he would not fail Legolas. 

Closing his eyes once again he at last fell into a deep and peaceful slumber.

****

TBC…


	4. Naraka

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Hannah's Back ; )  


Wow! Thank you for all the positive feedback everyone! We both really appreciate it and are glad you're enjoying it so much! : )

As for Legolas' reaction to the Corsairs, that is actually a creation of Cassia's, (another LOTR authoress) she got Sarah and I interested in this Aragorn/Legolas idea with her and Siobhan's Mellon Chronicles series. In the first of that series Legolas is captured by men and that is when he has his terrifying experience with a Corsair. I highly recommend that series if you haven't read it. : )

Yes the Chapter 1 spoiler isn't exactly a spoiler, but we wanted to mention it just in case someone noticed ; )

*hands Halo a tissue* I'm sorry! Didn't mean to make you cry! 

As to Legolas' sea-longing, Sarah and I went to great lengths to be sure that he was far enough up the river from the sea to avoid having a longing for it. In short he is over 400 miles away from the sea when they are captured (not counting the turns in the river) so we aren't too worried : ) But you are right, that would have been a big problem! ;)

That's just fine Cassia! We're really pleased to have you aboard! Hope you enjoy it!

Chloe, as I've told you before I'm sure your story isn't anything like Curious George so you can stop worrying ; )

Well everyone, thank you again for such wonderful feedback! It really makes our day!! Now onto the next chapter! : ) 

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Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 4

Naraka

As they traveled further up the Langwell, the air began to grow chill, and the slaves in the hold began to wish for more bodies, rather than fewer, to help create warmth. A handful of days later, they finally reached the end of their journey and docked with a loud thudding that vibrated the masts. The sounds of ropes being thrown down, and Seregoer shouting orders filtering through the deck as the slaves finally realized they were about to see for whom they had been captured.

A gang plank was lowered, and most of the ship's crew went below, assembling the slaves into a line, linked one behind the other, and marching them out onto an ancient looking wooden dock. Legolas avoided the Corsairs' touch, but otherwise stayed outwardly calm as the line was strung out, and then halted on the gray banks. He would not let himself loose control like that again.

Standing at the head of the dock with Seregoer there was a man. Tall, hard-bitten as the frost covered stones around them, and with a scowl on his face.

"We ordered more, Seregoer. Half again as many more." The man's eyebrows rose, "You wouldn't be trying to cheat Lord Furnmorth, would you?"

The large corsair glared at the man, his fist clenching, "Do not insult me, Naraka! Lord Furnmorth knows that the Lhimlug is too shallow to carry the numbers he demanded. If she were not, you would not be receiving the slaves you see before you! Name me another Corsair who has the ship, or the cunning to run a slave chain all the way from Rohan. You wanted sturdier stock: now you have it. Straight from the lands of the horse lords!"

Naraka glanced at his men, whom Legolas could see standing a little further off, "The captain here paints a handsome picture, does he not?" His eyes snapped back to Seregoer, accusing, "Anyone with half an eye can see these are not all from Rohirrim stock."

Seregoer fingered one of the knives at his belt, his scarred face looking dangerous, "Some died on the way and I was forced to supplement them with others, but, as it is a long sail from the great sea, you should be grateful you have the ones that are here! If I had tried to fit in the amount you ordered, you might have even fewer."

Naraka seemed to be considering the point, so Seregoer added with a particularly ingratiating, and therefore, particularly repulsive smile, "Besides that, maybe you hadn't noticed the little extra bonus?" He gestured with one calloused hand. 

Legolas looked straight ahead, but could feel Naraka's surprised gaze.

"An elf? Lord Furnmorth demanded strong workers, not pretty faces."

The captain was quick with his reassurances, "Elves are considered very strong, and if not, he might make a good house slave, eh?"

Naraka's disgust was evident as his attention returned to Seregoer, "Our lord is a warrior, not a soft nobleman. You would do well to remember that." Turning to one of his men, Naraka took a bag of gold and handed it to Seregoer with an audible chink. "There is your payment, we will take what you have."

The corsairs boarded the Lhimlug once more, and loosed the moorings, and Naraka rounded to face the slaves, his hand resting meaningfully on a long piece of braided leather looped at his belt. "I am Naraka, captain of Lord Furnmorth, your new master. You will follow." Turning, he left it to his men to get the line moving, and started up the rise. With a little stumbling as the captives became used to walking on land again, the long column started forward.

^^^^^^^^^^^

As night drew on, Naraka had ordered the slaves into a circle and driven pegs into the chains to hold them in evenly in place, thereby keeping the prisoners from manipulating each others bonds. Lighting one fire in the center for all of them, the captain then left them, under guard, to keep warm as well as they could. Beyond the shelter of the long outcropping they were camped beneath, Aragorn could see faint swirls of snow beginning to drift down and he felt an icy current slide over him as a stray breeze darted through their shelter. Beside him, Legolas didn't even twitch; elves possess greater resistance to extreme temperatures than humans.

On his other side, Aragorn could hear a faint clacking sound: it was the boy from Fladweth, shivering in the strange cold, his teeth chattering. Glancing pityingly at the youth, Aragorn wished he could lean in closer to lend him some of his warmth, but the pegs were firm, and all he could do was murmur softly, "And how old are you, young one?"

The boy looked surprised at the question, but answered hesitantly, "I am but thirteen summers, sir, though I'll own I look younger."

Aragorn nodded, encouraged that the lad was not yet dumb with terror, "And your name?" he prompted, still keeping his voice low.

"Nethtalt, sir. My father is Diinen, across the circle there." He indicated a quiet man chained several prisoners down from them. "We are farmers. Or we were…" His voice drifted into silence.

"I am Strider and this is my friend Legolas," Aragorn introduced, smiling almost conversationally, and yet again causing the elf to shake his head in wonder at the young man. Never in his long life had Legolas seen anyone mingle with and gain the respect and friendship of so many.

Nodding his own greeting to the boy and his father, he peered out through a gap in the rocks, trying to see through the snow to wherever it was they were being taken. Aragorn, seeming to read his thoughts, asked aloud, "Do any of you know where we are bound?"

Surprisingly it was Diinen who spoke, "Mount Gundabad, or so I guess."

Legolas looked up, clearly startled, "Impossible. The orcs were driven from Mt. Gundabad by the dwarves centuries ago." The prince's voice was firm.

Diinen seemed to almost draw into himself; he was a small man and clearly not used to speaking aloud in company like this, "Aye, that may be, but Seregoer was combing up the Anduin for slaves nigh on a year ago, and it was said he sold them there." The man shook his head slowly, "I'm afraid I know not the truth of the matter, but those who informed me *were* reliable men."

Legolas frowned thoughtfully, his fair face intent, "I suppose it is possible that someone else has taken up residence there, now that the dragons have gone and Moria is but sparsely colonized. If true, though, this is troubling news." His voice was so quiet that Aragorn could only just hear him.

Kelegalen was questioning the quiet farmer, "You said Seregoer made this voyage a year ago?"

"Yes, but I do not believe he started as far south then as he seems to have done this time. Also, he took women and children then, and this time has only taken men."

Kelegalen's sharp gray eyes met Aragorn's, "I would say something went amiss with his first load. Would you not, Strider?"

Aragorn nodded slowly, "I would."

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Morning found them marching again, passing through areas where the snow had only fallen lightly so as not to loose speed. The sun was moving slowly across the sky, but it seemed pale and cold, not the same sun that passed daily over Legolas' home in distant Mirkwood. Far off at the edges of his keen sight the elf could see lines of dark rock to the west, marking the northern reaches of the Misty Mountains. To the east and even farther north he knew the Grey Mountains began, stretching on eastwards to the Withered Heath and the Iron Hills beyond, but unless the dwarves too had returned to their halls, there would be no one there. The peaks had been notoriously plagued by dragons in the ancient days, and it was said one could still see melted stone on the rising slopes, showing where the monsters had battled with each other, as well as the dwarves, in greed for gold and jewels and other marvelous things. The Grey Mountains had long hidden riches as well horrors.

Legolas kept a close eye on his friend, ever ready to help him in case he should loose his footing in his weariness. Aragorn however did not seem to be yet disturbed by the distance, proving that much time spent on journeys with elves and Dúnedain had built up his endurance. It was fortunate, for Nethtalt needed all the help that could be given him. The boy had seemed active enough, but the constant walking was beginning to wear him down, and his father was in an even worse condition. Legolas had guessed that Diinen, in spite of his work, was not a strong man, and he was proved correct at least three times that morning as the man continued to stumble. The elf feared that the farmer would not last the journey, let alone the journey's end.

Several hours later, the man fell, tangling up the chains of those behind him and nearly yanking Kelegalen's feet out from under him as he was pulled abruptly to a halt. Without even seeming to hurry himself, Captain Naraka strode down the miserable line, his eyes sliding along, hunting for the trouble. When he came to the prostrate form of the farmer, he simply stood for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice audible to nearly everyone, harsh and commanding, "Get up."

Diinen shifted in the snow, his arms trembling as he tried to lift himself, then his hand slid and he fell back again.

Without waiting to give the order a second time, almost faster than even Legolas could track, the whip at Naraka's side detached and snapped downward, flicking the man in sharp motion directly between the shoulder blades, and causing him to arch his back weakly in pain.

The slave line flinched. Aragorn made a half move as if to walk over and personally strike down the dreadful captain, but found the pale, restraining hand of his friend keeping him firmly in line and a whisper of elvish near his ear, "i neth edain, Aragorn." The boy! Turning forward again, the ranger just managed to grab Nethtalt as he tried to scramble out of the line.

The whip came down again, Diinen's back arching once more, and the boy's voice rang out in an anguished cry, "Father!"

Struggling to keep a hold of the lad, Aragorn looked around, wishing there were some way to stop this.

The lash sailed again, once, twice, a third time. Each in a precise movement, each landing in the same spot, until the farmer's plain gray tunic began to turn faintly red.

The slaves were no longer flinching simultaneously, they had nearly all adapted to it now, but Nethtalt was sobbing, trying to break free of the friendly arms that held him, crying his father's name again and again. Naraka never even seemed to notice. Legolas watched in sadness as the fallen man finally ceased to move except in small twitches. Glancing at the slaves, wondering if there were any chance they would revolt, he saw no hope: many had already accepted the chains that bound them, and those that hadn't were simply too weary. His eyes briefly caught those of Kelegalen, who was still jerking in reaction with each abuse, but not in time to the crack of the whip. Rather his face seemed to contract with each cry of the boy, his fists clenching and unclenching as Nethtalt's anguish echoed through the valley.

With an unexpected turn, the man of Rohan cast himself over the body of the fallen prisoner, catching two lashes before the stone-faced captain stopped, just as deliberately as he had begun. His light hair rippling slightly in the chill wind, Kelegalen raised his head and offered in a quiet voice, "I will carry him."

Naraka seemed to consider that for a time, then gave a sharp order, "March."

Struggling awkwardly, with his wrists bound, Kelegen managed to lift Diinen to his shoulders and continue on without slowing the line. Naraka himself traveled to the head of the line, then stood still, his eyes meeting those of every captive as they passed him, their faces drawn to his. One by one, they turned away from his gaze, terrified of the absolute certainty in his eyes that he controlled them.

As the ranger passed him, the captain's eyes narrowed slightly, as if sensing in his very walk the defiance that hid in the young man's spirit. And when their gazes met, there were shards of steel in the dark haired Dúnadan's blue gaze. Holding the contact until the slave had completely passed him, he next came the one part of this purchase that he hadn't expected. The elf. And if the ranger's gaze had been defiant, this one was unnerving. This creature, the captain knew, had seen the world long before his own small cries had issued from his cradle. It's eyes told him of generations of men who had risen and fallen, and the swiftly disappearing shadows they had left behind. It's smooth face, and golden hair reminded him of his own comparative ugliness. It's very presence reminded him of his mortality. And he hated it. With an enraged flash in his eyes, he spat violently, the moisture spattering across the elf's cheek, but Legolas didn't blink. He returned the captain's gaze evenly, and then he turned his attention to keeping a firmer hold on Aragorn's elbow.

"Peace, my friend. Anger will not benefit you."

The Dúnadan glared fixedly at a point on the horizon ahead, but said nothing. Clearly, he would have liked nothing better than to take Naraka's head from his shoulders.

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It took two more days of steady travel to reach the sight of the mountain itself, and another day beyond that to actually reach it's feet. The crags were black, seeming to have soaked up the evil of the foul creatures that had inhabited it long ago. Still, though sinister, Aragorn felt a small sense of relief in seeing it: not only because it meant rest for his own tired body, but also because Kelegalen, strong as he was, could no longer carry Diinen as swiftly as before. Soon he too might collapse as the man on his back had, and Nethtalt as well was staggering along numbly, relying on the Dúnadan behind him to keep him moving.

Legolas in contrast was both fresh and, seemingly, much more worried. His fair face grew even paler as he saw ahead of them a large opening in the mountain's side, like a mouth waiting to swallow the slaves whole. Aragorn could hear a soft string of elvish falling from his friend's lips, one word recurring often, "Gathrod." Caves.

Under peaceful circumstances it would have been bad enough; Legolas' past experiences in underground alcoves would have been sufficient to chill even a dwarf, but this was somehow worse. As the opening loomed closer, Aragorn realized there were no other entrances or exits as far as his eye could travel up the face of the mountain, or around it's sides. Only a few air shafts and loopholes could be seen on the smooth surface.

Blinking at the sudden darkness, and sensing the stench of orc, long ingrained in the stone, rise up to meet him, he felt Legolas' faint shudder vibrate the chain as the last ray of light disappeared behind them around a bend.

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TBC…


	5. Mount Gundabad

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Sarah here! Do you guys know how much I revel in your feedback? It makes all that nasty editing worth while! : )

Of course we recognized the compliment, Emmithar, and a better one you could not have paid us! We highly enjoy their stuff (this is a hint for you guys to post if you didn't see it) and Cassia and Sio brought on this fic-writing bug of ours in the first place. Which should help you understand that the cliffies are actually not our fault: they're all due to Cassia's bad influence. ; )

Caves… Yes, well, we're contributing to the beauty of the moment when Gimli finally convinces him to visit the caves in Helm's Deep! It wouldn't be nearly so amazing without all this horrible stuff in his background. Yup… that's our sole motivation… uh-huh… torturing Legolas never even entered our heads… ; )

Well, Chloe, everyone has crosses to bear, and yours may very well consist of being related to us. You're not exactly the easiest person to live with either, you know… Either way, all that aside, thanks for the compliment! As it happens: *I* wrote that post, though Naraka is a little more Hannah's bad guy than mine (my villain is still in the future). As for their names: we'll explain that at the very end, so please be patient and leave the poor guys alone! ; )

And for heaven's sake, Halo, calm down! You're making me worried over here. Especially since we've barely even gotten started…*grins evilly, tries unsuccessfully to hide it*

So, yeah, a post:

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Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 5

Mount Gundabad

Connected with the awful stench of orc was the very vivid smell of molted metal and scorched rock. Legolas turned quickly to take one last look at the entrance and he committed every detail to his memory; if they were ever to escape, they would need to know where freedom lay. 

Even as high as the entrance the slaves felt waves of heat waft up towards them. As they descended further, one draft broke over them so strongly that it blew Legolas' hair back furiously. The elf tried to stay calm as the men continued to shove them down the pass further from the freedom outside. 

Aragorn looked distastefully up at his friend as they were shoved roughly down an abrupt slant towards the sounds of clanging iron against steel and growling orcs below. The human had obviously gotten the same sense of foreboding as the elf and both knew that they were walking into serious danger.

"Keep moving you!" A guard barked giving Legolas a forceful shove. The graceful elf barely stumbled, but he could see plainly in Aragorn's vibrant eyes that the human had once more taken a very personal offence to the guard's behavior. Legolas passed him a slight smile and cocked a questioning eye brow at the guard, hoping to relieve the young ranger's tension. Aragorn's eyes briefly returned the smile and the friends returned their attention to the path before them so as to avoid stumbling on the steep incline. 

The heat was beginning to thicken the air like tar; sweat collected on Aragorn's brow, and he felt dry heat burn his cheeks as they moved closer to the entrance below. He could already see the crimson shadows flickering across the wall and was left with no doubt of where they were being taken.

Even compared to the forges in the great mines in Moria, it was a large foundry. Legolas saw a few other slaves around him, but he did not recognize any beings other than humans, and many of these appeared to be men of such origin as Diinen and Nethtalt. The chamber was massive and strongly intimidating to the slaves; great fires burned at various points all across the room, sending shadows dancing, and whispering with satisfaction of the turmoil the slaves endured while caring for them. Cooling pools of water had been delved at three different points, fresh water from underground springs flowing into each one from sources in the wall, released only by a sluice gate. As they passed a tired looking slave was lowering the gate slowly back into place, wiping an arm across his scorched brow, and not even giving the newcomers a second look. 

Echoing around them were the sounds of metal workers, the clang of hammers upon steel, the *shhick* of cutters and the sizzle of hot armor being placed in the cooling pools. In many places completed armor was being made and stacked in piles which were then moved to an antechamber. 

The slaves at work, both in hauling and in hammering, were swift, but occasionally they stumbled in fatigue, and some took the goading of the overseers' whips to get them back on their feet.

Legolas saw Nethtalt move closer to the man next to him. The man was Kelegalen, with Diinen still resting against his shoulders, and he instantly freed a hand to place it reassuringly on the boy's shoulder.

"All right, keep moving!" Naraka growled and the line began to fill the chamber. 

The new slaves were immediately split up to work at different stations in the foundry and Naraka purposefully split Aragorn and Legolas up. The two friends shared a quick reassuring glance before Aragorn was issued a task in the breastplate forges and Naraka ordered Legolas and several others to a separate crew, assigned to hammering out steel scimitars.

It was not until the last of the slaves were grouped that Aragorn caught sight of a man standing by the entrance. He was tall, like Naraka, but unlike Naraka his face was both stern and intelligent, rather than merely brutal. There was a twist of his mouth that suggested he could be cruel, and a glint in his eye that was unsettling, but it was deliberate, not volatile. Then Aragorn caught sight of the ring on his finger and realized who he must be looking at. Lord Furnmorth, his 'master'.

"Watch the others already stationed here," Naraka said in a clear and emotionless voice, "and either you will learn on your own, or you will be taught." He fingered the whip at his side for emphasis. Several of the slaves shuddered involuntarily, but Legolas and Stavhold, who was in his group as well, faced the threat without flinching. Naraka paused for a moment before speaking again. "Some of you may still lay claim to your former independent spirit, but you will soon find that it will gain you nothing but lashes down here. There is only room for total submission beneath this mountain." Turning on his heel, Naraka left them to his guards to be escorted to their stations.

The slaves already working there seemed glad for the help and quickly explained the process, how to take the molten steel and use the presses to flatten the metal into sheets, and how to hammer out daggers so that the ends would become sharp. Legolas was assigned the duty of submerging the completed scimitars in the cooling pool, soon the high hiss of hot metal against cold water filled his ears. The dust from the coal pits, and the heat from the fires soon dirtied and flushed his fair cheeks, and his hair was beginning to plaster to his neck with sweat as he leaned over to take up another red-hot weapon.

Far across the great foundry he could see Aragorn. The ranger moved with great swiftness between two stations, hammering out the edges to several helmets, trying to spare as much metal as possible. Legolas was heartened to see his friend's ease even in such a predicament. Clamping the tongs firmly around another scimitar, Legolas dunked the heavy piece of metal into the water, the sizzle filled the air, and threw it onto the ever growing pile of weapons. Naraka was wrong, they could not break his or Aragorn's spirits, no matter how hard they tried.

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Naraka had half seen his lord in the entrance when the slaves were being separated out, but when he had turned, the man had already left. It was not unusual for the lord of Mt. Gundabad to behave thus — he had made regular visits to his foundries since the day they were built — but as Naraka had already been under orders to report to the lord's chambers with a full description of the purchased merchandise, he wondered why the man had wasted his time coming down. Well, it was not for the captain to say.

Up the subterranean passages that hid the sprawling foundry from view, and into the mountain proper Naraka went, accepting the respect of his human soldiers, and the groveling of the few orcs who had duties above ground. In Gundabad, orcs were trusted with very little — not even the overseeing of the slaves. The important duties were given to Naraka's contingent of men.

At last, the captain came to his lord's chamber door, which was standing open, and waited respectfully in the doorway. For a time there was silence as the dark-haired man continued to write, undisturbed, as if he had truly been sitting there the whole while, and then he said, without looking up, "Enter."

Naraka obeyed, bowing as he approached the desk, "My Lord Furnmorth, I have brought the slaves."

"Good." Furnmorth answered, finally placing his quill away and raising his eyes to the captain's face. "Are there as many as ordered?"

Naraka shook his head, "No sir — Seregoer claimed he could carry no more than ninety."

"I see. You will be careful with the ones we have, then, correct? The days are running short." Furnmorth's eyebrows were raised, almost pleasantly, knowing well the tendencies of his captain.

Naraka recognized the tone of command and agreed, "Of course, my lord."

"Then I require no more of you. Continue with your duties." Furnmorth dismissed Naraka with a slight nod.

The captain turned towards the door, his cloak billowing, but paused at the last minute, a frown creasing his forehead, "My lord?"

Furnmorth looked up, surprised that the Naraka was still standing there, "Yes?"

"Amongst other items, Seregoer sold us an elf." Furnmorth's eyebrows rose ever so slightly and Naraka continued, "He is rebellious, and I fear he may cause problems amongst the other slaves — more problems than would balance the value of keeping him. I request to eliminate him from the group immediately."

Furnmorth's eyebrows now came together, a frown flickering across his brow as he looked his captain directly in the eye, as if reading something written inside Naraka's head. At last he moved in a slow, sinuous way, shaking his head, "No, captain. When death is unavoidable, then the slaves will die, but not until then. You are dismissed."

Biting back frustration, Naraka bowed once more and left.

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Aragorn had lost all track of time — it could have been hours since they had arrived at this place, or it could have been days, he did not know, but after a long while they were finally given a halt and sent off to sleep. The lord of the mountain was no fool, Aragorn easily saw: he knew that to keep his slaves alive he would have to keep them well rested. Though right now the ranger was not half so sleepy as he was fatigued, he was sure it would not be long before he would wish desperately for sleep.

They were led from the foundry down through several stone passages to a large chamber where the slaves all dwelt together. Already another shift of slaves were moved out to continue the work. Aragorn instantly looked around for Legolas, but his friend was no where in sight; a nearby slave caught his wandering gaze and put in helpfully, "Occasionally the groups arrive at different times." The man was young with pale blonde hair much like Legolas', but his eyes were deep green. "I am Bronadui of Ered Ladin, in the Misty Mountains." The young man greeted, reaching for Aragorn's hand.

"Strider, a Ranger from the North," he clasped Bronadui's hand in return.

"You came with the new lot," Bronadui confirmed 

"Yes I did," Aragorn nodded in agreement. "I have a friend here with me." 

"It is not wise to have friends in such a place, Ranger." This came from directly behind Aragorn and he turned quickly to see another man. He had brown hair and darker eyes, as well as many marks from his hard labor. There was a strange look in his face: it was the shadow cast by callused pain and it veiled his deep brown eyes like a dense mist. "Often you will not have them long," the man continued, "and it is best not to attach yourself too firmly to what does not last. I have been here many hundreds of days, and you may believe me: there is no comfort to be found here, even in the friends you believe you have. Here you have either death or despair. There are no other alternatives or choices offered. And you can not stay alive depending on hope; it will only fail you." 

Aragorn felt the words pierce him deeply — something in them seemed to very nearly ring true, as if they were a quiet prediction of something to come, but Bronadui broke in with a strangely unconcerned laugh.

"Strider, this is Helkhmorn, please forgive his rudeness. He, as well as I, were here during the accident."

"Accident?" Aragorn frowned.

"Yes," Helkhmorn nodded firmly. "A terrible cave-in from too much heat — it killed over half of the first slaves here. Those who hadn't already died from the hard labor."

"We survived along with about forty others," Bronadui explained, "but Helkhmorn believes we are all doomed to ruin in this place." The man gave a puzzled shrug, his eyes more bemused than distressed. "I, for one, cannot claim to understand his meaning, for I have never found anything to be so totally desperate as that, wouldn't you agree?" 

Aragorn nodded slightly, but still Helkhmorn's words haunted him, and the thought of all those people being killed within these depths made his heart lurch terribly.

"Strider!" The sudden call was like a ray of sun in the morbid thoughts of Aragorn's mind —Legolas was moving quickly over to him. 

"Legolas!" He returned the call and the two friends embraced swiftly, both relieved to see the other unharmed. "It is good to see you my friend." Aragorn smiled for the first time in a while. 

"I must find a place to rest for the next few hours," Bronadui said in the way of parting. Aragorn bid him farewell and realized then that Helkhmorn had all ready gone.

"It is good to see you well," Legolas returned, turning the ranger's attention back to him. "This is a bitter place and without your company it seems nearly unbearable." Aragorn had to agree with that. 

The two sat near the place Kelegalen had chosen to settle. Most of the slaves were already in an exhausted sleep when they entered, and the two friends were grateful just to be away from the heat for a while. Aragorn leaned against the wall and shut his eyes for a moment, ready to relax into the growing silence. 

Abruptly there came a raucous shriek from just beside him. Aragorn jumped and turned, feeling Legolas tense next to him as well. Directly at the ranger's left was a vent about the length of his forearm and the same in height: from it had come the growl. Now more noises issued through to them and Aragorn glanced at his friend who shook his head in confusion.

"Do not worry about it." Kelegalen whispered in a half asleep tone. The two friends turned to him, but the man did not bother to open his eyes. "I heard one of the slaves say that the chamber next door is where Furnmorth's orcs bed down at night."

For a while the growls and shrieks ricocheted through the slave chambers, but all were so exhausted, they paid them no mind. Aragorn shuddered at the sounds and Legolas moved away from the vent, but after a while the commotion began to die down, and slowly it dissipated to low, snorting growls as the agitated brutes finally slept themselves. The ranger turned to Legolas after a moment and he was frowning slightly. "Why are there orcs, Legolas?" He asked quietly.

The elf glanced at the vent for a moment. "I know not," he said finally. "They are never about the foundries, yet I hear their growls and curses often from the storage antechamber, and one of the slaves spoke briefly of the digging of a tunnel."

"Tunnel?" Aragorn seemed to consider that. "Do you not wonder what all this armor is for?"

"Indeed I do," Legolas nodded, "although orcs and armor can only truly mean one thing."

"They are creating an army." Aragorn finished.

"But for what?" Legolas continued, leaning against the cold rock wall and letting his eyes drift shut. "That is the question." The elf was beginning to fall asleep when suddenly Aragorn spoke up.

"Legolas?"

"Mmm..." The elf returned as fatigue slowly over took him.

"Would you consider sleeping with your eyes open? It would put me at ease. I feel nervous when you sleep like that." 

Legolas laughed quietly and opened his eyes, placing a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Do not fear my friend; if it would put you at ease then I will do as you ask." 

After Aragorn had fallen asleep, Legolas watched the flickering reflections of the entrance torches on the rock walls, and he longed for the light of the stars... He needed the stars. Leaning again against the wall, he willed sleep to come, but it evaded his grasp and after a moment he resolved to stay awake until they were to return to work — he would remain awake and think about the stars outside. 

Carefully he put an arm around the ranger beside him and, as he did, Aragorn curled up against him in his sleep. Legolas smiled slightly and leaned back one last time. He stared up at the rough hewn ceiling, trying to imagine the stars past the seemingly endless miles of solid rock, and before he knew what had come upon him, sleep pulled him down into a sudden peaceful security.

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TBC…


	6. I need sky, Aragorn

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Hannah…again ; ) Thank you everyone for the feedback on my chapter and our story in general! It's so sweet of you to give us such positive feedback! : )

I agree! Cassia's cliffy bug is *very* contagious but under pain of death I'm not allowed to blame it on her ; ) J/K

I make it my policy not to answer rhetorical questions…I wonder why ; )

Don't worry Chloe we aren't making you look bad intentionally :p actually since you have refused to let me read your story I may never know how good it is! :D

Hey Sio! It's so good to 'see' you! I'm glad you're enjoying it! I fear that I have a slight penchant for writing mush, which is not helped at all by my sister and co-writer's liking for reading/writing it ; ) 

Sorry about the cliffies Halo! Don't worry, these aren't really cliffies compared to--maybe I shouldn't say any more, forget it! Never mind! ; ) 

That's okay about the re-posts Valkyrie I know sometimes it gets confusing : )

Thanks again everyone! And now for the next chapter! : )

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^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

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****

Chapter 6 

"I need sky, Aragorn."

Feeling the strain in his shoulder, still sore from the wolf attack nearly a month ago, Aragorn let the hammer fall on the helmet edge, flattening it a little more, and then shifted it and swung at it again. A third time. A fourth. Wiping the sweat from his brow, the ranger examined the edge one final time, knowing that any flaws could mean severe punishment. With a short nod, Aragorn threw the completed helmet towards the appropriate pile, feeling anger at the Furnmorth course through him. Not for himself, but for those around him. To the side he could see the other 'new' slaves, working in the dizzying heat, nearly dropping with fatigue from the past two weeks of steady labor. Here and there the ranger could see one stagger under their load, wandering too close to what would likely be a fatal fall into the molten metal, or the fires. Only a few, like himself, were still pressing on at a moderate pace; most, like Nethtalt, were near utter exhaustion.

//Nethtalt.// Aragorn's thoughts dwelt with momentary pity and sadness on the boy, now alone in this black pit. Diinen had fallen after only five days, never to rise again, and though the boy had wept long over the loss, now his face was blank with pain; his features as worn down as his small body. Where possible, several of the slaves had made an effort to lighten the boy's load, but hopelessness was settling in his eyes. //*Here you have either death or despair. There are no other alternatives or choices offered. And you can not stay alive depending on hope; it will only fail you.*//

*… death or despair…*

//It is coming true.// 

Shaking free of the thought — bringing himself back to the present just in time to hear a sharp change of orders from one of the overseers — he wound his way through the other workers to the trimming blocks.

Legolas was already working there, his long blond hair pulled back behind him into a ponytail. Laboring carefully, so as not to remove any of his fingers by mistake, the elf was cutting the excess metal from the edges of a breast plate: spillover from when the steel had been poured into the mould. His hands were already bandaged with strips from his tunic, blood seeping through the soft green cloth. Tilting his head upwards to ease the muscles in his neck, he caught sight of his friend and greeted him.

"I thought you had been assigned to shaping, not trimming." Aragorn commented, picking up his own tools and beginning work on a second breast plate.

Legolas gave a faint shrug, "Naraka seems unable to decide where I am best suited. He continues to insist that elves are skilled with their hands and should be given difficult work, but what work is a mystery. So far I have labored at nearly every task they have, and was only just assigned this one. I would caution you to be careful, my friend: these cutters are unwieldy."

Aragorn took his advice, working slowly and meanwhile watching his companion out of the corner of his eye. Even as he looked on, the elf's hand seemed to shake slightly, as if with fatigue, but elves seldom tire within only a few weeks, even when laboring hard, so long as they have at least a little sleep — and the slaves were never forced to toil all night, for fear that they might all die before the work was completed. Now that he was paying attention, the ranger also noticed his friend's extreme pallor, turning his skin to an ash-like hue, and the way his breath was slightly harsh and ragged.

"Legolas, are you well?" Aragorn asked anxiously, actually pausing his work to hear the answer.

The elf looked up, his blue eyes tired, and rested his own tools for a moment. His shoulders seemed to slump, making his lithe frame appear smaller. He whispered, "I need sky, Aragorn."

The Dúnadan let out a breath. Of course, the cave had seemed oppressive to him, and he had longed to be home in Rivendell, gazing at the stars, but for an elf — and with the sense of evil in the very tunnels — it would be much worse. Enough to actually make one ill, if confined for too long…

"Don't give up, Legolas, we'll find a way out soon." Aragorn said, more pleading than reassuring, wishing he could believe it himself. He did not want to be alone in this place. Nethtalt's hollow eyes hovered in his mind.

Legolas was silent for a long minute, removing the last scraps of steel from his anvil and placing them in a sack to be reused in the moulds the next day. A strand of hair fell from it's binding and he pushed it away with wavering fingers, but it fell again. He rose to get another breastplate, only to be halted by Aragorn's hand on his arm.

"Please, Legolas. For your father, if no one else." //For me.//

The elf smiled wearily, his eyes, at least, not admitting defeat, "Have no fear, Strider. I will not soon give up."

The moment was over, and Aragorn went back to his work at least somewhat free from anxiety. For the moment.

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CRACK. With a sharp report, the clumsily made cutters snapped, sending a portion of the blade flying past Legolas' ear. Looking down at the tool, Legolas knew there was no hope of repairing it. Aragorn was not presently at his block, which the elf considered fortunate, since his friend would have most certainly made a stir over the close call, and if he walked quickly, he might even be able to get a replacement before the ranger knew he was gone.

Carrying the shards with him, he set out across the echoing cavern, walking lightly down the dividing wall that separated two of the cooling pools, so as to avoid the thicker and more dangerous traffic on the floor itself. On either side, steam rushed up in clouds as red hot metal met dark gray water, but the elf seemed not to notice, stepping over the sluice gate and nodding a greeting to Nethtalt, who was stationed there, to land just beside the tool makers. There were only four slaves working there, and all were busy, so he placed the remains of his cutters onto the pile for re-melting, and stood by to wait.

The sound of voices caught Legolas by surprise, as the slaves seldom tried to talk as they worked, but a minute later, he saw the explanation as the imposing form of Lord Furnmorth appeared with Naraka walking close beside him. It was the lord's habit, all the slaves knew, to make an inspection of the work being done at least once a day, so Legolas did not take much notice. But this time, rather than walking as they conversed, the two men paused to by the wall, and the elf's sharp hearing could easily pick out what they were saying, even above the tumult of the hammers.

"The tunnel is going slowly now that we have reached firmer rock," Furnmorth was saying calmly, seemingly unaware of the controlled chaos around him, "It will be at least another nineteen days before we will break through."

Naraka frowned, "All the armor should be complete by then, though we've had one or two setbacks. Slaves may be better for metal work than these orcs, but they are often clumsy."

"No matter. Even once the first troops leave, you will likely have an extra day to outfit those who will travel in the rear. The tunnel is quite wide, but not wide enough for them all to travel through it at once, and Gilthad is many miles away."

"Can we be sure the dwarves will not have had news of our plans?" Naraka's hand rested briefly on his sword hilt.

"We can. The dwarves seldom take notice of things beyond their halls, and Dorm is particularly of that bent. Do not worry, Captain, I have planned for all occurrences. Your task will be simply to take possession, and then we will all have our rewards, will we not?" Furnmorth smiled almost paternally, his strong features benevolent.

The only sign of Legolas' wariness was a slow narrowing of his eyes, but no one noticed.

"Most certainly, my lord." Naraka responded, his own face more cheerful. "And then who will ever rival the riches of Furnmorth, Lord of the Grey Mountains?"

The thought seemed to please the lord, but it did not appear to absorb him. There was much still to be done, and he would be the last to forget that. "Come, I intend to see the outcome of the newly produced orcs before nightfall."

Accepting his replacement tool, Legolas turned silently to go, his mind working carefully over what he had just heard.

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"So the dwarves have returned to Mount Gilthad?" Aragorn said thoughtfully. "I had heard that they had once prospered there, but believed the dragons had driven them away." He shifted his back against the cave wall, no longer noticing the noises and scuffling sounds that marked the orcs in the room beyond, or the echoes from the foundry far below that also carried through the narrow ventilation holes.

Legolas nodded in the dark, "You were correct, but with the disappearance of the last of the dragons, and the sacking of this mountain by Thrain II, it is not surprising that they should return, for they unearthed much wealth in the Ered Mithrin. I would guess that Furnmorth's men intend to dig their way into Gilthad secretly and take the dwarves by surprise, along with their fabled treasures."

"Then that is the reason for this." Kelegalen murmured from his own chosen resting place a little further away. "Wealth."

"So it would seem," Legolas agreed, "but it is unlikely that Furnmorth, whatever his designs may be at present, will hold himself to such small goals once he has the means for further conquest."

Aragorn sat up a little straighter, understanding where the elf was leading, "You fear he will become more greedy and set his sights farther south?"

"Yes. Erebor would likely be his next objective, as there are even greater riches there, but if he were to conquer that and Esgaroth—" The elf stopped.

"Mirkwood." Aragorn whispered softly. "It would be surrounded on two sides, and with Dol Guldor in the south, you would have only your western border secure."

Legolas nodded again, silently, his mind numb.

Aragorn frowned at the darkness, his brow creased in determination, "Legolas, we must find some way of stopping this."

The elf did not ask how. If his home was to be kept from a danger it knew nothing of, if the dwarves of Gilthad were to be saved, if the slaves were to be set free, then it must be done. There was nothing more to be said than that. Nothing more to be done than that. 'How' was a secondary matter.

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TBC…


	7. Revelation and Disaster

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Sarah here! To quote SpaceVixen: thanks for all the yummy feedback! :)

Hurt Legolas and Aragorn? What makes you all think we're going to hurt Legolas and Aragorn? Why, we're about the most harmless writers any hero could hope to have! *catches everyone looking at her with skeptical expressions on their faces* Well, nicer than some people. A few people. Nicer than Cassia. *nobody bats an eyelid* Will you quit looking at me like that?!

Hope you caught Olivia okay, Chloe! And as for what you said about us all having our own pet peeves: you're very right! As it happens, you've been one of mine since you first learned how to talk. Don't worry though, you're quite amusing to have around, and you give great feedback, so there's no chance of me selling you to the gypsies! They won't take you back anyway... ;)

Thanks for all the praise on Nethtalt! The poor boy needs all the encouragement he can get. :(

Well, Spanish was always one of my worst subjects, but I think I got the gist, Emmithar! Thanks! Legolas... pass out... *pulls out best poker face*

e: The elves of Mirkwood and Rivendell would indeed notice the absence of two of their citizens, but the wandering habits of our heroes, and the distances between the two places are such that information takes a while to get around. As for them noticing the kidnappings in general, the elves (especially of Mirkwood) always struck me as rather too busy trying to hold their own borders to bother with what is going wrong beyond them, especially concerning men, with whom they don't associate much anymore. And no, Furnmorth has no idea who he's just brought in to his fortress (cue ominous music), and as to whether or not he'll ever find out... well, this story has already been written in full, so that's already been decided, but what did we decide...? You'll just have to see! *smiles winningly* I'm so glad you're liking it! :)

And now here's a bit of a long one… *gulps* Maybe I'll just go hide while you read it. *takes off*

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Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

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Chapter 7

Revelation and Disaster

Meals were passed out twice a day to the slaves — in shifts, like everything else. The meat that was brought in was only given to the orcs, though they never mingled with the slaves while they ate it, fortunately. Instead, the slaves used a rubble strewn antechamber off of the foundries to eat in, collecting in groups on the boulders which had fallen from the ceiling long ago. Not a very comfortable place to supper in, but there were no complaints.

None made aloud, that is.

//I've seen better food left on the roadway through Trollshaws.// Aragorn thought dully, sorting through the days rations, which mostly appeared to be of the root and tuber variety, with some hopefully non-poisonous fungus on the side. Only the sort of thing one might expect from a mountain fortress this far in the north.

The ranger was sharing his seat with Bronadui, the young man he and Legolas had met the day they arrived. He was chewing away with, if not enjoyment, then at least energy, taking brisk drinks of water to wash it all down, a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. Aragorn had considered for a time than the man had finally fallen over the edge reason after months of forced labor, but eventually came to realize that what he was seeing was Bronadui's form of defense against the horrors of his new life. The young man refused to take it all in, allowing himself to stay at least partially sheltered in oblivion. Whether he did it purposefully or not — and Aragorn suspected the latter — it sometimes gave him the appearance of callousness, or even insanity, but at least allowed him to be a fairly decent companion. Certainly much better than Helkhmorn. Still, he wished for Legolas, or even Kelegalen: someone he actually needed to speak to. With only eighteen days in which to devise some sort of plan, they could not afford to waste any of it. But they were still working, and the only person in the room that he had ever really spoken to before, besides Bronadui, was Stavhold, over nearer the chamber entrance.

Even as he looked that way, there was a slight stir amongst the slaves: someone was coming. When the first of the guards entered, there was a scramble to get out of the way, and several slaves became tangled with one another, causing a few to fall. The slaves farther towards the back of the chamber also shifted, trying to make room for the migrants, and generally adding to the noise. 

Still, even with the echoing rustle of bodies trying to avoid collision, the rolling thud was easily heard.

Aragorn rose to stand on his boulder, craning his neck to see what had happened — and then he froze. Stavhold, in the general commotion, had been knocked to the ground just in front of the group of men, and as Naraka had walked in, perfectly certain that the slaves had already recoiled at the rumor of his coming, his foot had caught on the fallen slave. The result was to land him hard on his chest in the loose gravel that coated the floor. A shocked silence followed, awe at the toppling of the feared captain stealing all words and freezing the slaves where they were — walking, half standing, turning.

Scrambling to his feet in what he obviously hoped was an imposing and deliberate manner, Naraka, Captain of Mt. Gundabad, nearly shrieked an order, his 'noble leader' veneer curling back to reveal his ugly temper in full. "SIT."

Everyone instantly found a place and sat in it, whether it was a rock, or merely the floor. There was no disobeying the captain when he was in this mood. Almost no disobeying. Aragorn was still standing, a virtual island in a sea of submission. Naraka, however, was too absorbed in the object of his embarrassment to notice. Stavhold was still on the ground, pinned now by Naraka's boot planted in the middle of his back. Without even a word, his face covered in rage, the captain set about spending his fury on the helpless man of Rohan, kicking at him again and again with his iron shod feet, landing blows in his side, battering and lashing repeatedly at his head. Viciously and mercilessly meting out punishment for his humiliation.

Aragorn, his blood heating in his veins, had slipped from his rock and begun to make his way forward when the beating started, but he was so far back in the crowded room that it was difficult to maneuver. Before he was even within half a dozen strides of helping, Stavhold had already been laid out helpless and gasping on the floor, and Naraka had raised his foot for a final blow, one that would most certainly break the man's neck.

"Captain." 

The word carried much further than one would have thought possible, since it was neither a exclamation, nor a sharp order. Naraka became suddenly still, his face flattening into an unreadable expression, his foot lowering slowly to rest beside the half conscious slave's bleeding face.

In the entrance stood Lord Furnmorth. His face was calm, his bearing, as always, stately and assured, his clothing in perfect order, his sense full of the certain knowledge that his kingdom was completely under his command, and his eyes — as hard as hammered steel and as furious. Naraka almost flinched at the undiluted anger in his superior's eyes. 

"Captain, I must speak with you in my chambers. You will meet me there." The words were smooth, like spider's silk. Very nearly concealing the dark, venomous monster that lurked at their center.

Naraka bowed. "Of course, my lord," he murmured, and left the room. Furnmorth followed the man's exit with his eyes, but not with his head, turning his attention back to his damaged property when the captain's footsteps had echoed away. He frowned, just noticeably.

Even as he watched, a tall, dark-haired young man pushed violently through the last of the slaves, dropping beside Stavhold and carefully turning him onto his back. The damage was severe, but it mostly involved the man's face, though blood was seeping through his clothes at other points as well. If nothing else, the man would probably loose his right eye, and maybe part of his ear as well. There was blood everywhere.

Furnmorth's frown deepened as he gazed at the ranger: this slave was not supposed to be here without leave. There was another rustle amongst the slaves as some in the back, thinking from the silence that the guards had left, started to rise, but Furnmorth's command brought them back down. The defiant slave paid the order no heed, still trying to mop the blood from Stavhold's face. And up above him, Furnmorth's green eyes narrowed to harsh slits, the fury they now held equal only to that which filled the eyes of Melkor when he first discovered that Ulmo was beyond his control, and the sea would not obey him. 

Then, as if to confirm the comparison, the dark-haired slave raised his head and gave him a look that was half scorn, half anger, "You should find a way to manage your captain better."

The words were foolish, and Aragorn knew it, but his ire was too great to suppress. He waited for Stavhold's punishment to be brought down on himself and almost wished for it, but Furnmorth was not Naraka. He had not built up his great designs by being petty, or by wasting his time on those things which were below his notice. However, he *had* done so by being in control. Signaling a guard, he watched with apparent composure as his underling clubbed Aragorn hard upside the head, sending him crashing into the loose stones, and leaving a raised and bleeding lump on the side of the ranger's head.

As Furnmorth turned to go, he cast one last look at the slave who had defied him, to find the slave still looking at him, his hair matting where the blood trickled out. His blue eyes were unmoved. 

//He will likely need to be handled at a later date, to prevent him from causing trouble, but for now he is one of the few slaves still in good condition.//

Furnmorth never wasted resources.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Wasted resources… Striding down the passages towards the upper parts of the mountain, Furnmorth did not bother to slow for anyone, they all moved from his path. Seldom was the lord of Gundabad visibly angry like this, and the less of it his soldiers saw, the better, in their own opinion.

Naraka actually trembled when the chamber door slammed open to reveal his lord, standing perfectly still in the doorway, his hands resting easily at his sides as if he had never lifted them to the handle. "My lord." The captain bowed, hoping that perhaps some of Furnmorth's anger had cooled. It hadn't.

With one step, Furnmorth was in the room, and his hand was clasped around Naraka's neck, his fingers pressing firmly into the man's windpipe as his commanding eyes met the captain's cowering ones. "Never again, Naraka." He hissed softly, slowly cutting off the man's air. "*Never* again. If you fail me in a like manner a second time, if you loose for me even one more slave through your foolish behavior, I will personally divide your body and feed it to the army for extra rations. Can your mind accept that much?"

Naraka choked, his eyes bulging slightly as he fought for breath.

"Good."

Letting his subordinate fall, Furnmorth stalked down the hall, the sounds of ragged coughing, and his billowing cloak following him around the corner.

^^^^^^^^^^^

"Strider, what happened?" Legolas demanded as his friend returned to his cutting block. The bleeding had stopped, but the ranger's hair was still dark and tangled where he had been struck, and his eyes were smoldering.

"Stavhold was beaten." Aragorn said shortly, picking up his cutters and going to work.

"And you?" Leoglas pressed, eyeing the ranger's head.

"No, not me," Aragorn replied briefly. "Furnmorth struck me for speaking out of turn, but it does not pain me anymore, so do not worry yourself."

"What about Stavhold?"

"He will live," the Dúnadan's face was stony, "but he will be weak, and I have no doubt they will order him to work again tomorrow, even if they *are* intent on preserving their workers." There was a hiss of steam from the cooling pools, emphasizing his bitter statement like an exclamation point.

They returned to their tasks as a guard looked their way, and Legolas allowed himself a brief moment of worry. Aragorn had crossed Furnmorth, and whether sooner, or later, that would most certainly cost him. Legolas only hoped the price would not be too great.

^^^^^^^^^^^

The next day found Naraka again striding through 'his' domain, but there was no doubt amongst the rest of his men over who was truly in command.

Avoiding the captain all the same, the elf returned to his cutting block with yet another breastplate and set to work again, a faint *cchhing cccchhhhiiing* marking the progress of his cutters as they shaved away at the steel. A grunt of disgust caused Aragorn to risk a look away from his hands, just long enough to catch a matching look of aversion on the elf's face.

"What is the matter now?" He asked, almost acerbic.

Legolas continued to cut, shaking his head in wonder, "Strider, this armor isn't fit to use as protection against the *rain*, let alone arrows."

Aragorn grunted, "All the better, wouldn't you agree?"

The elf was almost talking to himself, "I could never stand putting work into poor material, and this… one arrow through the fastening hole here and you would pierce the wearer right through the throat. A squirrel could do better with tin."

"Just work, Legolas. There's no room for artistic elvish craftsmanship in here."

Detecting a faint note of humor in his friend's tone, the elf's heart lightened. He had not wanted the young man to know how ill he was beginning to feel, and had been distressed that it was evidently showing so clearly. The events of the day before had only compounded the young man's anxiety, but if Aragorn could still goad him, all was not yet too dark. 

//But oh, for a bit of real light!// His hands shook even more today than formerly.

Laying aside his completed breastplate, Legolas walked over to the slowly diminishing stack of freshly molded pieces and selected a new one, hefting it easily enough, and stepping back to turn around. The side of his knee grazed a jagged edge that was protruding from the mound and he pulled away, fighting irritation with himself for being careless, and feeling a small trickle of blood stain his leggings. The movement would not have been a difficult one for an elf, even with a burden, to make, and he nearly managed it without trouble, but just as he was reaching perfect balance again, another slave brushed against his back. Stumbling suddenly, his tired body unable to handle the extra disturbance, Legolas took a step to compensate and strayed into the path of a second slave. 

The two collided, the breastplate nearly flattening the man as Legolas lost hold of it completely, and the man's own burden, an iron cauldron, falling to the ground with a clang, splattering it's contents across the stone floor and partly over the elf's legs.

White hot agony coursed through Legolas, scorching like flame, and then continuing on beyond all description. Putting his hands down to pull himself away, his left hand suddenly blistered into searing pain also, driving all reason and all thoughts from his head. All thoughts except one. "STRIDER!"

Aragorn had not paid much attention to the echo of the collision; sudden noises were common in the foundries. Then the sound of a scream followed, and the scream was his own name. Leaping from his seat, the ranger dashed swiftly between the terrified slaves to the place where the breastplates had been piled, to find his friend writhing on the ground in agony, his legs and left hand clearly burned, and slowly cooling metal splashed all over the floor. The new slaves stood absolutely still, their minds numb with horror at the spectacle. The old continued work. This was much less daunting than the *last* incident.

Pulling his friend swiftly away from the burning pool, Aragorn felt fear rise in him as his friend gasped and cried out again and again, struggling with the pain that was flowing all through him. Again and again he called the ranger's name, sometimes in the common tongue, sometimes in elvish, his mind seeming to find no other outlet than the one word.

Slowly he began to calm, apparently trying to contain himself, and his jaw clenched visibly as his body shuddered with reaction and shock. Aragorn held the elf's good hand, fumbling in his belt pouch for the last of the medicine he had stored there, hoping for something that would at least grant his friend sleep—

"What is the meaning of this?" A cold voice demanded, the tall form of Balkhfiren, Naraka's lieutenant, appearing as if out of no where at the edge of the circle. "Why are you no longer working?"

The other slaves did not try to excuse themselves, but instead turned back to their tasks. All except for Aragorn, who, for the second time in as many days, remained on the floor, and Kelegalen, who had pushed his way through from the mould workings.

"Sir," Aragorn ground out, trying desperately not to antagonize the lieutenant for fear he might refuse, "if you wish to avoid the loss of a — skilled slave, I can treat him."

Balkhfiren eyed him, perhaps searching for the defiance that Aragorn had shown Furnmorth. Then, though Aragorn could not tell why, he commanded abruptly, "Take it away. You have two hours." Turning on his heel, he left, his footsteps lost amongst the clanging noise that had filled the room once more.

"Here, let me help." Kelegalen stooped down as Aragorn shifted himself to lift his friend.

The ranger demurred, "You'll be punished if they find you away from your work."

"Let them." The man of Rohan was firm.

Carefully easing Legolas over his shoulder with Kelegalen's aid, Aragorn could feel the elf tensing at each movement, soft cries escaping his lips whenever his burned legs touched anything.

When the two men finally laid the elven prince gently on the slave chamber floor, they were not surprised to see him go limp, finally loosing all consciousness. His face was contorted and his hands clenched, but Aragorn had no time to dwell on it.

"Hand me my cloak, Kelegalen. We must work quickly." Tearing the green cloak into narrow strips, they cleaned the scorched legs as best they could and bound them, grateful that the burns, though incredibly painful, were not as critical as they had thought, and that the strips of cloth around the elf's hand had protected it from at least some of the metal.

"He will not be able to walk for nearly a week." Kelegalen shook his head, as Aragorn packed away the few herbs that remained. 

The ranger disagreed, "No, a few days at most: elves heal much faster than men. His legs *will* continue to pain him for a long while, I fear, and his hand most of all, but I am grateful that at least it was protected enough that he will be able to draw a bow again when he returns home."

Kelegalen appeared taken aback at the Dúnadan's certainty, but Aragorn was too occupied with settling his friend in as comfortably as he could to notice.

****

TBC…


	8. The Price

****

Sarah back again!

Yes, Chloe, I sense a great deal of the pot-calling-the-kettle-black aura about you... (the 'inner eye', you know, sees all) ;P And you weren't supposed to know about our injuries calendar. You were reading over my shoulder! To quote Susan again: "It was very naught of you, playmate"

Emmithar: Well, um, I was being just the teensiest-microscopic bit, um, sarcastic. I know, it's a severe flaw of mine... just after 'torturing poor, unsuspecting elves and rangers'. *sigh* And I'm afraid you'll have to translate for me! When I said 'not very good at Spanish', what I meant was 'if Corté s heard me, he'd shoot me'... *'nuther sigh* ;)

Don't strain your eyes, Ecri!! All the same, thanks for the praise! I'm glowing brighter than the computer screen... 

And we try and post every other day, but sometimes Hannah (or Siri, as you better know her) gets swamped and we run a little late. :)

Good heavens, Halo, don't hurt yourself... *feels her hair go flying back at the sudden bout of screaming* And don't kick Siri: that one was my fault. You can kick her later on. ;)

*creeps out from hiding place* Thanks for the 'heads up' on the typo, iverson! I'll try to avoid it in the future, and I'm not the least bit offended at your mentioning it -- I'm just glad you're reading it so closely, enjoying it, etc.! :)

Greedy readers are welcome, so long as they don't come after us with torches at any point. ;)

And we are a little less than 1/3 of the way through this. Makes you feel all happy inside, don't it? I mean, all that lovely time to get them into even *more* trouble! But you didn't hear me say that...

______________________________________________________________________________

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 8

The Price

Naraka was agitated as he entered the chamber of his over lord, and though he bowed and made the properly respectful greeting, Furnmorth cast one glance at him and immediately picked up on his mood.

"Captain," the lord acknowledged, motioning for Naraka to stand beside him, "is there trouble?"

Naraka moved across the stone chamber and nodded briefly, "My Lord, there are difficulties with the armor. There have been many broken tools, and even more cracked armor plating from the ever growing heat and dryness down in the foundry. I believe that each of these problems can be made up for in time, but your orc army is beginning to become restless with all these delays. I fear that it will drive them to bear down on the slaves, or worse, my men, and we really can't afford to lose any of either at this juncture." Furnmorth listened quietly and, apparently, unconcernedly.

"Captain, I have all ready taken such matters in hand."

"My Lord?" 

Furnmorth did not answer immediately; such was his way. The closed demeanor that had kept him on top for so long still ran thickly in his veins and he was not about to divulge plans of any sort hastily. "I have promised our troops a little entertainment," he replied finally. "A possible quenching of their obvious desire for blood." Naraka cocked his head slightly in question, and something of an amused smile crept onto Furnmorth's otherwise stoic features. "You may rest assured captain that after tonight they will withstand the delays. Return this evening and I will explain."

"Yes sir," Naraka nodded and turned from the room.

"And captain?" 

The Lord Furnmorth's voice stopped him and he turned back, "Yes my Lord?"

"Do be sure that the young, stubborn human is not damaged before then, will you?"

Naraka paused for thought, then nodded. "Yes sir." 

The captain left the chamber and Furnmorth sat quietly for a moment, then, when he was sure the man was out of earshot, he spoke quietly to himself.

"The boy's spirit must be broken. We can't have him influencing the others to his folly."

^^^^^^^^^^^

Aragorn sank to the floor, ready and willing for some manner of rest after the long day's labor. Truly the days seemed to become longer, as if the overseers were allowing them less sleep and giving them more work to do. //Likely enough.//

Legolas was already seated, his sore legs resting gingerly before him, and he smiled faintly at Aragorn as the young man toppled beside him, letting out a long breath. Turning, Aragorn looked up into his friend's pale face and felt concern rise up inside him.

The elf's wounds had been very painful, but had fortunately left no lasting damage and, with a good deal of aid from Kelegalen, Aragorn had managed to begin the healing on the terrible burns. 

The past few days Aragorn had given Legolas his undivided attention and had made a point to look out for the prince while they were working, or when they slept at night, and now, thankfully, his friend was slowly recovering. 

Still, Aragorn could not ignore how sick Legolas was becoming: the lack of sun and the bitter conditions of the foundries had left the elf pale and weak, the added injury had done all but help him, and he had never once received a departure from the grueling work for more than a day. Aragorn had tried everything to get Legolas the rest he needed, but all it had earned him was punishments for his stubborn, rebellious behavior, and finally the elf had begged him to stop trying. However, every time the ranger thought he could stop, he would see Legolas as he stumbled, trying weakly to continue his work, and though many times the elf had tried to keep Aragorn from worrying, his own physical appearance had betrayed him to the ranger's fears.

"I could do for a rest." Legolas admitted, breaking into the human's thoughts.

"As could I," Aragorn agreed. //Though not half so much as you// He added silently to himself.

As Legolas shut his eyes and leaned back against the rock wall, the ranger wanted desperately for him to keep his eyes open, but he knew that it was beyond the elf's control now. Aragorn swallowed another bout of fears — he knew he had enough to worry about without forever grieving over his inability to help his friend. There was still the question of Lord Furnmorth's plans for the capture of Mount Gilthad. Aragorn knew that, above all else, he and Legolas *had* to keep the tyrant from taking hold of Gilthad — it could mean the downfall of everything else, and he knew that Mirkwood was the chief concern in both of their minds. But the answers were not forthcoming and they had no idea how they would thwart the lord's plans.

Letting out a troubled breath, Aragorn looked around at the slaves. They were all so tired, beating against a steady despair and making absolutely no head-way. Some, like Helkhmorn, had given up entirely. Others, like Nethtalt, were close on the verge of disaster, and developing scars that could last forever. 

Aragorn felt so helpless around the many he longed to help, it made him wish he had never known such turmoil; yet there was still a vague and distant hope that he and Legolas would be able to thwart Furnmorth's plan, and if they did, then maybe these slaves could be free. 

A hand rested on the ranger's shoulder and he reached up to touch it with his own, resisting the urge to twitch away when his finger tips were brushed with the cold, clamminess. Aragorn turned worriedly towards Legolas and the elf smiled wanly.

"Worrying again, human?" He teased gently.

"I suppose," Aragorn admitted, looking out again and sighing. "What will happen to them, Legolas?" He nearly whispered, certain that his friend would hear him. "If Furnmorth carries out his plan successfully, what will he do with them?"

Legolas didn't respond, but the dread of the inevitable was clear in their minds as they gazed at Kelegalen, at Stavhold, at Nethtalt, at the many hurting souls around them. After the plan had been carried out, Furnmorth would not need them any longer, but he certainly would not be willing to let them leave, allowing them to spread word of his deeds. He might…

With sudden and unexpected strength, Legolas gripped Aragorn's shoulder tightly. "He won't," the elf assured with conviction and Aragorn felt determination flow from his friend as it had not done in a long time. "Stop worrying and sleep, Strider." Legolas leaned back once again and Aragorn moved up next to him. "We will find the answer, we cannot give in...not now." 

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a the thudding of feet as several of Furnmorth's men passed down the short tunnel and entered the chambers. At their head was Naraka, moving in a definite direction with purpose in his movements, and there was a strange gleam in his eyes which made Aragorn suddenly uneasy. The ranger was surprised to see them in the slaves' chambers at all — as far as he could remember they had never yet entered the chambers unless it was to pick up the next shift of slaves, and it was not time for that yet. The ranger swallowed as a veiled sense of foreboding began to fill him.

Naraka glanced keenly around the room for a moment and he quickly spotted Legolas, but he seemed to ignore the elf and turned his eyes instead on Aragorn. The Dúnadan felt Legolas tense beside him as he followed the captain's gaze. 

"Him." Naraka snapped brusquely to the guards, clearly indicating the ranger. The three guards moved between the quailing slaves to the young human and grabbed him roughly by the arms, yanking him to his feet.

"No!" The prince rose swiftly, wrapping a hand around his friend's arm and trying to pull him back. 

"Get out of the way!" One of the guards ordered, attempting to wrench the ranger away from Legolas. The elf didn't loosen his grip — he felt the danger like a shadow falling over the sun and he knew they intended the young man harm. He was not about to let go. In a swift, impatient movement, Naraka crossed the room.

"Get out of the way!" He ordered angrily, cracking a brutal blow across Legolas' head and knocking the elf clear across to the wall. Legolas hit it hard, crying out as a rock projecting from the wall slammed into his back, badly bruising his ribs. The elf slid to the ground and for one breath-freezing moment, he didn't move. 

Aragorn had to bite back the urge to cry his friend's name aloud, knowing it would do no good, but then he saw Legolas turn slightly. There appeared to be no permanent damage, though the elf was plainly hurting. 

"Don't worry slave," Naraka reassured the fallen immortal sourly, his temper assuaged, "you'll hear all that goes on." Legolas turned his blue-gray eyes up to meet Aragorn's and the ranger tried to send assurance through his gaze, but he felt a twinge of fear sneaking into his heart, wrapping it in an iron fist, and he felt sure his reassuring gaze was not as confidant as he'd hoped. 

Under the direction of Naraka, the three men pulled Aragorn from the slaves' quarters to the room adjacent, and the young man tried not to tremble when he realized just where they were taking him: the orc's chamber. 

He put up no struggle, knowing it was futile and not really wanting Naraka to know just how fearful he was. He couldn't imagine what they were going to do to him, but he had encountered blood-hungry orcs before and he knew it was an incident he had not soon wanted to repeat. 

Memories fresh around him, he involuntarily recoiled at the entrance, but was easily over-powered by the three guards, and forced into the darkened chamber. With a solid kick, one of the men took Aragorn's feet out from under him, knocking him to his knees on the stone floor. He tried to rise, but they held them there firmly, hands clamped painfully hard on his shoulders. 

Naraka entered the grotto next to the ranger and smiled cruelly at him for a moment. The human could see that in such work as this, the captain took great pleasure, and it made him even more anxious. 

Aragorn turned away from Naraka's smile and looked around the cavern — it was nearly impossible to see anything. He had always known that orcs detested sunlight and more than likely they wanted it to be as dark as possible. Only four torches burned in the four corners of the alcove, and as the light glanced off the many bodies of the orcs, Aragorn got his first look at Furnmorth's army. 

He was surprised by the size of the creatures — he had seen many orcs before, and these were shockingly small, many of them coming only to his lower chest and a few even shorter than that. But they all looked at him with the same menacing eyes and he hid a shiver.

"I'll be back in an hour for what's left of him," Naraka said coolly to the orcs. He motioned for the guards to release their hold on the slave, and as they left Naraka turned briefly, "Be sure there is at least something left of him when I return; we are growing short on man-power." He sent a cold smile to Aragorn, "It should be an interesting challenge." Then he left the dark chamber. 

Aragorn's heart was hammering as the first of the orcs advanced on their prey. He realized now why he had been brought here. Nothing more nor less than to be sport for the restless orc army, something to practice their battle skills on, something to keep them busy so that they wouldn't cause trouble.

//Illuvitar help me,// Aragorn thought as he looked fearfully at the many orcs, but he wasn't going to go without a fight. Even without weapons he was going to do everything he could to keep the creatures away from him. 

The first one that pounced at him snarled with pleasure, giving him full warning of it's approach. He spun away quickly, moving instinctively towards the wall. Most orcs would have blundered past and whirled for another advance, giving Aragorn plenty of time to get entirely out of the way, but this small orc was cunning and even in the dark it tracked the move. Then, as it charged past, it's hard foot shot out, gouging the ranger deeply in the chest and sending him into the wall. There was a cackle of pleasure from the surrounding orcs, but Aragorn was back on his feet in a moment, ready for the next attack. 

Another orc ran at him, a sharp weapon of some sort in hand, but Aragorn, knowing the perfect dodge for this maneuver, quickly jerked to the side. As he'd expected the sharp object went into the wall, but, like the other, the orc saw him move and twisted to meet him, striking Aragorn in the head. It was a hard blow and the ranger saw splotches for a moment before he regained his balance. 

Unfortunately this distraction was time enough for another orc to jab him painfully in the arm with a small dagger of some kind. Aragorn started and let out a small cry as it sank deeply into his forearm, but he tried to silence it. 

He now had a better idea of the orcs' moves and he had to try and use that knowledge against them. The next orc who rushed him was met with an unexpected attack: the creature was clearly expecting Aragorn to attempt a dodge, and was knocked off it's feet by Aragorn's superior weight as the young human kicked him full in the chest. The orc snarled angrily and wiped black blood from it's mouth. 

Aragorn took a step back as it rushed again, and this slight retreat gave him enough room to kick the creature again, but unfortunately it had learned well and it anticipated the move this time, grabbing hold of Aragorn's foot. The Dú nedan brought up his other foot and jerked it around into the back of the orc's knees, tripping it up and knocking both of them to the ground. The orc tumbled away, and Aragorn was first on his feet, starting up quickly to avoid the next attack.

This time two leapt on top of him at once. He managed to strike one across the jaw and knock it down, but the other grabbed him hard by the hair and jerked him viciously to the side, growling a curse in the ranger's ear as he did so. Aragorn stumbled and nearly fell, but managed to stay upright, and, using the element of surprise, he was then able to twist away awkwardly. But not before another orc knife found a place in his side. Aragorn bit back a yell as he stumbled back into the wall and gasped out in pain.

The orcs howled gleefully to each other, obviously enjoying the sport, and Aragorn felt hope leave him. It didn't seem to matter what he did, if they didn't anticipate the move the first time, they would always recognize it the second time and be prepared to batter back his defense. The fact that the orcs came one at a time to 'play' with their prisoner proved that they were only intent on hurting him and using him as target practice. 

But something inside of the ranger burned hotly against his chest — he could not give up now, he knew he couldn't. Watching closely as another orc advanced, he carefully formulated a plan that he could only trust would work.

The next orc that advanced was in for a nasty surprise, for as soon as he was within range, Aragorn launched himself forward and landed hard on the short creature's head. Bounding off his precarious perch, Aragorn hurled himself towards the wall, timing his launch perfectly and gripping the wall bracket tightly when he reached it. The orcs growled angrily up at him and the ranger carefully lifted one of the torches from it's bracket and dropped to the ground. As he waved the torch before his attackers they backed off slightly. The firelight reflected off the young man's face and the determination in his pure blue eyes showed clearly that he was not beaten yet. 

One orc lunged at him only to be cracked back with the torch, another backed off yowling in pain as the torch burned into it's side. The largest of the orcs watched angrily as time and again Aragorn would beat back the many orc warriors. Sweat began to bead on the ranger's face as he struck the orcs that got to close. Several tried to leap over the fire only to meet with Aragorn's strong arm as he knocked one into the other, and then whirled to the left to catch a third with the torch. In his mind, they all seemed to grow the gray, shaggy coats of wolves as they snarled around his flame. 

Aragorn was beginning to feel strength surge through him as the orcs tried again and again to defeat him. But in all this Aragorn had forgotten he wasn't dealing with normal orcs — these orcs had tactics, they had plans, and most threatening of all, they learned from their mistakes. When the orc dropped down from the ceiling onto his back and dug it's sharp dagger into the young man's shoulder, Aragorn never even heard it coming. Instantly the torch dropped from his hand as his injured shoulder sent jolts of pain down through his finger tips. He let out a cry and tried to throw the creature off, but it did not intend for the ranger get the upper hand again. The orcs were angry at Aragorn's stand, even amidst their delight in the sport, and they would not be through with him until he knew their displeasure. 

Moving unexpectedly, the creature shoved him hard across the room, removing it's dagger from the ranger's shoulder with the same painful thrust. Aragorn had to choke back a scream as he slammed into the rock wall. The orcs snarled angrily at him and Aragorn knew that he was in deep trouble now. 

An especially disfigured looking orc sneered something in the black tongue at the one next to him, clearly something of a challenge, and the creature loosed a long dagger that caught Aragorn's tunic sleeve, nailing it firmly to the wall. A second orc let out a raucous cheer and loosed it's blade towards Aragorn's other arm. The ranger dodged the blow and the dagger lodged in the rock where his arm had been. Angrily the orc moved over to the helpless prisoner and slammed his arm forcefully against the rock, and Aragorn watched as another dagger was thrown at him, this one also pinning him firmly on the other side, and grazing his arm as it passed. Held now beyond all movement, there was no way to evade the third knife, which sank into his leg, sending a ringing pain up through all his body, and causing him at last to cry out without restraint.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas gripped the corroded metal of the vent with all his might as the scream tore through his heart.

When they had taken Aragorn away from him he had felt the danger intended for his young friend, and now, as the orcs tortured him ruthlessly for their own sport, Legolas could hear every echo, every snarl, and every cry. Each reverberated through to the elf's ears: clearly, as if he were himself standing in the room, and he hated it… because he was not.

//Again//

He shut his eyes against the hopelessness that longed to overtake him.

//Again I must listen. Again I can do nothing...//

Legolas shut his eyes and this time he couldn't hold back the tears in them. He was so helpless — he couldn't change what had been, he couldn't alter what was going to happen and worst of all, he couldn't stop what was happening now, just beyond his reach.

The slaves around him watched and listened in silence, but Legolas was not ashamed of his emotions, he was only ashamed of his own helplessness.

****

TBC…


	9. Paid in Terror

****

Hey! Hannah (Siri) here again!!

*dodges a couple death threats* Oh my!! :o Sorry!! ;)

Yes, unfortunately for Legolas his lack of sun/stars/light is beginning to wear on him. 

This story takes place at about Year 2955 of the Third Age. It's just a year before Aragorn's supposed first meeting with Gandalf if you look on a timeline. 

*hands Halo another tissue* Sorry! : )

Nope the odds are DEFINITELY against Aragorn, but Furnmorth isn't exactly the fairest person there is. ;)

Thanks Lily!! Unfortunately Sarah and my co-writing tends to consist of staying up to late in our room pouring of meaningless details while we get so exhausted we fall asleep ;) Thank you though very much for the compliment!! : )

HaHa! Actually we know neither Cassia nor Sio personally but have been fans of their writing for a long time. We *are* nice…sometimes…occasionally…really! We are! Yes everyone I know seems to be learning Spanish all of a sudden. While *I*, on the other hand, am taking a course in Irish/Gaelic it actually sounds a bit like Elvish at times =D And I have no *idea* what Aragorn and Legolas did to deserve this…that's probably a question for Cassia ;)

Oh my Chloe!! I'd suggest you get out of there!! ;) Yes well, I doubt he's practicing for Lurtz but he *will* need to learn how to fight unusually sized Orcs *somewhere* won't he?? ;)

*Plush* Legolas?? (heehee) Funny Leia! Hopefully this chapter won't leave you hanging as much.

Good question Ecri but I'm afraid…yup I can't answer it!! Sorry! I'm sure you'll find out soon though ;)

And onto the next post before we get mobbed or lynched or something equally unpleasant! ; )

________________________________________________________________________

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 9

Paid in Terror

Now that the daggers held him securely to the wall, the orcs used their fists and feet to beat at him, leaping in and leaping out in quick succession. Aragorn's mouth was bleeding freely and his cries could contain themselves no more. Finally the largest of the orcs, Ragrak, motioned for them to stop, a gleeful look in his sickening, flat eyes. "Let us see the human escape us now," he suggested in a sly voice, using the common tongue to mock the ranger. There was a sound of agreement that rippled through the malicious band.

Ragrak pulled the daggers out from the wall Aragorn dropped helplessly to the floor. The orcs sneered at his weakened state, but the Dúnadan refused to listen. Rising unsteadily to his feet, ignoring the bruises that spoke of the beating he had just suffered, and the blood trickling down his leg from the dagger still lodged there, he tried to stand without leaning against the wall. 

The orcs didn't give him a chance to recover. 

One darted forward and slashed at him, causing him to stumble back against the wall in an attempt to avoid the blow, but still the dagger grazed his chest and the shock drew a hollow gasp. Another of the foul creatures dropped from the ceiling, using a clever maneuver to grab him around the chest with one arm, and kick him in the back, causing him to fall forward onto his knees. There, Ragrak struck him hard in the stomach and gashed the ranger's shoulder with the point of his knife. Aragorn sank down to the ground putting his hand across his face to shelter it.

"Look, the human doesn't want us to hurt it's face!" Ragrak mocked. 

Aragorn couldn't see the large orc, or what it was doing, but he could tell by the gleeful cries that whatever it was, it was going to hurt. Several orcs grabbed him harshly and wrenched him around so that the ranger was once more looking up into Ragrak's malicious eyes. In one hand the orc held the smoldering torch that had mostly gone out on the ground. Anticipating the game, one orc grabbed Aragorn's chin and hair in his hands, pulling the ranger's head to the side, as, sneering down at him, Ragrak raked the hot wood right across the young man's face. Aragorn could not hold back the pitiful screams as the hot embers burned him terribly, missing his eye, but sending scorching pain everywhere else. Suddenly, unable to do any more himself, he felt how desperately he needed someone to aid him.

"Legolas," he gasped. "Legolas help me, please!" His fatigue, his helplessness, his pain — all mixed together in a desperate longing. Both elf and human knew how deeply they needed each other. Now it was Aragorn's turn to cry out for friend...but Legolas could do nothing.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas' eyes were glittering with unshed tears as his friend's screams filled his ears and rang in his mind. "Legolas!" Aragorn cried, anguish evident in his voice. "Legolas help me, please!" 

The elf could take it no longer. Rising to his feet, he shakily brushed at his eyes and started for the chamber entrance.

"Legolas, no!" Kelegalen snapped; he had anticipated this happening eventually and was ready for it, rising in one motion and catching hold of the elf's arms. The elf tried to push past, but Kelegalen would not allow it, bracing his legs and pressing back. "This won't help him Legolas. They'll kill you!"

Legolas was beyond caring, and again he tried to push past. He was hurting and desperately sick — he could not think reason in this place and Kelegalen was well aware of it.

"Legolas, listen to me." Legolas shook his head, trying to brush the man away. "Listen to me!" Kelegalen repeated, shaking the elf slightly. Legolas turned his eyes up to meet Kelegalen's. "Listen," his tone quieted slightly, "you won't help him this way. Please, trust me, they cannot afford to kill him: he is too strong. You mustn't risk their wrath for something that you cannot stop."

Legolas shut his eyes as Aragorn screamed again, but when he opened him again, his senses seemed to have returned to him.

"Please Legolas," Kelegalen begged with him gently, "Strider will need you soon enough. Be here for him." Legolas didn't move for a long moment, then he nodded slowly. 

"Yes," he nodded again, more vigorously, "you are right, Kelegalen." Slowly the elf turned back and sat down near the vent. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he gently rested his forehead against them. 

Kelegalen *was* right. When Aragorn was brought back he would need immediate attention, and getting himself killed would be just like abandoning the young man in this place...and he could not do that to Aragorn.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Aragorn was beyond noticing what the orcs did to him — he was so deeply hurt that it all mulled together, fogging his brain, and numbing him. He longed to loose consciousness, but the orcs had been making it a point to not beat him too hard in the head; they didn't want their plaything unable to feel their blows. 

Still, it was too much, and when the strong blow came to his head at last, he was already unconscious.

^^^^^^^^^^^

When Naraka entered the chamber he found the orcs still beating upon their prisoner, but he was no longer responding. The slave lay crumpled on the ground and for a moment Naraka wondered if the human could be dead. 

The orcs reluctantly backed off when Naraka entered with his guards, Ragrak giving the young man one final kick in the side before backing off as well, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

//Furnmorth was right,// Naraka mused silently, //their longing for blood has been momentarily quenched//

The captain signaled to his guards and they dragged the ranger from the chamber, glad to leave the presence of the filthy horde. Naraka was leaving to report to Furnmorth, but he paused as his men dragged the human towards the slave's chamber and turned to look at one of the guards.

"How bad are his wounds?" He questioned idly.

"I don't think this one's going to make it," the guard answered simply. Naraka only nodded — if the young man didn't make it, there would be no chance that any of the slaves would be half so rebellious again.

^^^^^^^^^^^

The guards threw Aragorn towards the hard stone floor, but Legolas was already there to catch him. Gently pulling the ranger away from the other slaves he laid the man down by the wall of the chamber. 

"Oh Aragorn," Legolas whispered, tracing a finger across the burn on the young man's cheek: it ran from beneath his right eye to his chin and flamed red on the ranger's face. "Kelegalen!" the prince called, but the man was already beside him with the small pouch of herbs and healing ointments that Aragorn had had with him when they were captured. There was not much left of the supply — Legolas' injury, and Stavhold's, and the many smaller injuries of others had greatly depleted the supply — but Legolas would use them all if they were needed to save his friend.

As Legolas began to see to Aragorn's many wounds and instruct Kelegalen and Stavhold in what they could do to assist, the young ranger began to twist sharply at their touch and started to mumble incoherently so that Stavhold had to keep him down while the other two worked. 

"Hold on, Aragorn." Legolas whispered so that only the ranger would be able to hear. "You'll be all right, I promise you."

It was well nigh onto morning in the world outside when Legolas felt Aragorn stir beside him. The two men and the elf had done all the could for the ranger and now they could only hope he would be all right. Legolas anxiously waited as Aragorn woke fully and stared up at him, seeming confused for a moment.

"Legolas?" He whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," Legolas nodded, "yes my friend, I'm right here."

"Our places seemed to have switched." Aragorn commented dryly. Legolas had to smile a little at that.

Breathing unevenly, the ranger tried to push himself up to a sitting position and Legolas stretched out a hand to aid him, easing him up until he had his back against the wall. Aragorn felt deeply in pain, but it was more the black memory of wounds than the true amount of pain that came from them, now that they had been cleaned and bound. He looked around the dark chamber and saw the many humans sleeping quietly around him, Kelegalen and Stavhold being most near. As he turned back to Legolas, he realized the elf's eyes looked glazed, as though he repeatedly drifted off to sleep and then started awake again.

Aragorn frowned. "Did you sleep at all, Legolas?" The elf seemed hesitant to reply, which was good as a negative to Aragorn. "Legolas!" He exclaimed as best he could with the pain in his chest.

"I did not want you to be without care." Legolas protested.

"Well what about you?" Aragorn's eyes flashed. "You know you are in no condition to be avoiding what little sleep you have!"

The two glared at each other for a moment, then Legolas sighed. "Why is it whenever you awake after being injured you find a reason to scold me?"

Aragorn tilted his head a little sheepishly, "Because you refuse to take care of yourself."

Legolas shook his head almost humorously, "Really Strider, I am doing far better than you."

"We'll see about that." Aragorn countered. Legolas smiled, but Aragorn had turned serious again. "I'm sorry Legolas." He let out a sigh.

"Sorry?"

"For being so weak...again."

Legolas shook his head instantly. "No Strider, you're not weak."

"I should have been stronger though," Aragorn conceded softly. 

"Well I am sorry that I could not be with you, like you were with me." Legolas returned the apology quietly.

"You were with me," Aragorn contradicted, smiling again for a moment. "And you're here now."

Legolas smiled back, suddenly remembering Kelegalen's words. "And you are here too," the elf returned.

"And on the mend," Aragorn added, attempting to stand. Legolas moved to grab his elbow, pulling him back down again.

"But not completely healed." The elf scolded gently, checking the bandage on the ranger's leg where the knife had been removed. "Let us use the last of this time to sleep. I have no doubt they'll want you back to work again in the morning and you can walk then." Aragorn caught the hint of anger in his friend's tone and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. 

"There's always cause for one of us to be angry with them isn't there?" He asked softly.

Legolas' expression eased sadly. "I believe so."

A heartbeat later, they had both fallen into a deep and exhausted sleep.

****

TBC…


	10. What Must Be Done

****

Hannah (Siri)'s still here! ;) 

*glows* Thanks for all that excellent feedback!! You guys are so nice to us!! :D

Chloe don't be silly, you're really good at writing!! Oh and I don't think Sarah's too happy that you just put a chisel through her laptop ;)

(Uh Oh) Umn…Halo I think I'm out of tissue!! Sorry. 

Oh yes, a plush Legolas sounds…umn…great :D Glad you're getting sleep again Leia :D

Yes, Cassia, you would ;) Now Cassia, do you really think we wanted to keep all that…lovely attention all to ourselves!! We're just umn…sharing some with you =D

Yes, Cassia and Sio are great! One of our prominent inspirations…I'm sure Legolas and Aragorn are…thrilled ;) 

Yes, well that was one of those cases where we kinda carried a Mellon Chronicle Trend over to our story, cos Aragorn does seem to scold Legolas a lot when he realizes the elf didn't get enough sleep because of him or didn't get his injuries seen to because of him or whatever, (Return has the best example of this). It's just the habits of a concerned friend, I'm sure Legolas will forgive him ;) 

****

Well, onto the next post!!

________________________________________________________________________

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

Chapter 10

What Must Be Done

"Clumsy fool!" The overseer snapped irritably, the awkward move of the slave eliciting a sharp crack across the side of his face.

Aragorn winced as the large man's hand reopened the burn still vividly imprinted on his cheek, moving quickly to right the fallen piece of armor which had landed, quite accidentally, on edge of the guard's cloak. He was fortunate the man had decided to act no further than a single blow and an insult.

Returning to his work, Aragorn forced himself to lift the large shaping hammer and drop it once again on the scimitar he was working with, continuing at a decent pace until the overseer at last moved away from his station. As soon as he was far enough away, the tired ranger dropped the hammer on top of the still glowing saber and gripped the edges of the block with all his might as a wave of dizziness overtook him — he wanted so desperately to get away from this heat. 

Shutting his eyes for a moment he let the nausea pass. His wounds had not had time to heal properly and it was causing him to weaken, but he still had a reserve of strength that kept him working through the days. The young ranger opened his eyes again, finding, to his surprise, that someone was standing before him.

Assuming it was a second guard he gripped his hammer again, and, hoping the man hadn't been there long enough to catch his laziness, he dropped his eyes to his work — but a slender hand suddenly dropped on his, halting him midway, and he looked up. Legolas held his gaze with barely veiled concern.

"Are you well, Strider?" He questioned softly.

"I'm fine." Aragorn assured him, but he couldn't hide the fatigue no matter how hard he tried. "Just a little tired," he allowed, as he again began to pound at the scimitar.

"A moment ago I overheard two of the overseers talking," Legolas explained, apparently deciding to take the ranger at his word, and keeping his voice low. "One spoke concerning the progress of the tunnel, and it is nearly finished; the army will begin it's march on Gilthad any day now."

Aragorn stopped his work and looked up at Legolas once more, worry on his face, "What are we to do, Legolas?"

The elf shook his head. "I know not, but we must do something, and we are rapidly running the length of our time."

"Nevertheless, we cannot do this alone." Aragorn let out a long breath and stole a brief moment to look round at the slaves. "There are some, I believe, who would help us."

Legolas nodded. "Yes, but a bare few."

Aragorn felt despair creep on him — he hadn't realized how short on time they truly were: so much had happened to distract them. Now the time to act was upon them and they had no plan, no means of escape.

"You two," a voice snapped, finally noting their inaction, "back to work!"

Legolas moved away promptly, whispering to the ranger as he went, "Tonight, my friend, we will think of something."

Aragorn nodded in agreement, but he feared that they would be too late, and if they could not warn Gilthad, all would be lost.

^^^^^^^^^^^

It was five hours into the next day when the slaves were finally relieved for the next shift. The guards were pushing them faster and harder than ever — many were falling asleep on their feet, and were finally given leave to rest. But Aragorn and Legolas could not sleep, for they knew the planning had to begin now. 

They cautiously drew aside Kelegalen, Stavhold, Nethtalt, Brondadui and several other slaves they had come to know over the weeks, those they knew they could trust not to betray them. Moving to the dark corner where Aragorn and Legolas usually slept, they sat in a rough circle, their faced turned inwards.

"We have gathered you here, because we are intending to plan an escape, and we may need your help." These direct words of Legolas' were the first spoken after they were sure that no unwanted ears would overhear. The surprise was evident as the slaves exchanged glances, but Kelegalen did not move, seeming unsurprised.

"We have heard that Furnmorth intends to send his army to march on Gilthad from below ground, thereby taking hold of that strong fortress." Aragorn continued. The slaves evidently already knew of this and were unconcerned, so he pressed on, "If they were to take this fortress, they would hold dominion of the Grey Mountains, and with the absence of the dragons, nothing stretching from the east to west of these mountains would stand in their way."

"Once there, it is easily presumed that they will continue south," Legolas completed the explanation. "Conquering much, including my home in Mirkwood, as they increase both their wealth and their lands. Before many years have passed, the entire north could be ruled by the tyrant who now holds us captive."

No one spoke for a long time, so Aragorn filled the silence once again, "We must warn the dwarves so that they may defend themselves against the orc army, but to do this we must first escape with the message."

Stavhold instantly shook his head. "You would never reach Gilthad from here. It is a long journey and even were you to escape tomorrow, you would never reach Gilthad before the orc army."

"That is why we must make haste," Legolas insisted. "We are running very short on time, but if we can construct a plan to get myself and Strider away, there is a hope."

"Why should we care about your Mirkwood?" One of the men of Rohan spoke up from near the outer edge of the circle. "There is nothing there that concerns us, and we cannot hope to save it simply by warning a few dwarves, even if they do listen to an elf and a ranger."

"We must at least try," Aragorn protested. "And Mirkwood could mean a great deal to you, if they were to take hold of it. As Legolas said, soon they would have the man-power and resources, as well as the captured ground, to move towards larger realms, such as Rohan, if unchecked."

The man smirked, "Indeed? Do not even you, a ranger, know how far Rohan is from this place? They would never reach it's walls."

"It matters not of distance from Rohan," Legolas argued, "think of the many villages along the shores of the Bruinan, and the Anduin. Think of Fladweth."

"Fladweth is doomed," a slave taken from that village replied bleakly, leaving no room for argument.

"It does not have to be that way!" Nethtalt interrupted, his young face taut. "We could return and preserve it, but it will have no hope if we do not stop this evil from destroying it." Aragorn was startled at the wisdom and outspokenness of the youth and sent him an encouraging smile.

"We would never be able to help you escape in any case," Bronadui argued lightly. "There are guards everywhere and you'd never get to the exit. Why, even if you did they have a hound dog tracker in Captain Naraka — you'd never escape him."

"He could not catch us," Legolas countered. "Can you not see that this matter is of the utmost importance?" The elf tried hard not to become impatient with the men. "If Furnmorth's plans are not thwarted here, at their beginning, they will grow until turmoil engulfs all of Middle Earth." The words would have sounded idle if the elf had not put them forth with such force, such assurance of what needed to be done; but Aragorn could see as he looked around the circle that, though many recognized the importance of the prediction, it did not change the fear in their hearts.

"It is folly." A voice spat. All turned — and it was Helkhmorn, standing at the outskirts of the circle. Whether he had been wakened by their voices or had never fallen asleep, the group knew not, but he was among them now and his tone was cold. "It is pure folly," he repeated, "to believe that such a thing is possible. Your very lives depend on absolute obedience to those above; it depends on constant fear of the environment around you; it depends on listening closely and moving quickly, on performing your labor and not stopping to question anyone. It is the only way to survive, and depending on others will only bear you down. There is no room for hopeful endeavors here, they will only betray you to your ruin. 

"As I spoke before: it is either death or it is despair. You may have it either way you like, but I choose to live as long as I possibly can and not attempt to be a brave fool. We all know that quite well: what happened to the ranger could happen to any one of us, if we dare to stand up." The words were spoken in such hard despondency, such cold understanding, that none could speak.

Aragorn watched as the faces of each condemned soul dropped from his gaze, hiding their defeat from him. The silence seemed endless.

"I, for one, will not stand idle if there is a task to be done." 

The words were spoken as a light in the darkened room and all eyes turned from Helkhmorn to the speaker. Kelegalen, who had not spoken a word till this moment, was seated at Aragorn's left, and his eyes were fixed firmly on the two beside him, as though blocking out Helkhmorn and his words. "Our home at stake, or others' — it makes no difference to a true man of Rohan. To forget that we are defenders and that we have always been warriors is to forget that we are human, and living beings. We cannot avoid this task anymore than we can avoid our existence." Kelegalen's powerful voice held weight against Helkhmorn's despairing words, but it mattered not to the frightened slaves.

"We have not the strength of you Kelegalen," Stavhold murmured in the miserable pause that followed, and Kelegalen turned distressed eyes to the young man, shaking his head.

"Indeed, Stavhold, you would back away from your duty?"

The man turned his face away, but couldn't escape the man's stare. "I fear them, Kelegalen. I've seen what they do...I've *felt* what they do." Reluctantly the man turned his eyes back, one clouded and unseeing as Aragorn had predicted. "I am sorry, Kelegalen, but I cannot be so bold as you or Strider, or Legolas." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the others, and Bronadui as well, not wanting to break the walls of ignorance that he'd worked so hard to build up. One by one, they backed down and would not offer their aid.

"You show reason." Helkhmorn nodded approval to the men.

Kelegalen shook his head, his eyes full of regret. "You show cowardice," he whispered, and though his tone was not harsh, his disappointment was evident.

Aragorn felt his heart sink as he realized that Kelegalen was the only one who would side with them, and he searched the many faces, looking for some sign that they would change their minds, but none would, and his hope flickered and ventured towards death as the slaves turned and moved away from them.

"I will not stand idle!" Nethtalt exclaimed, rising to his feet. "I will help you, in any way I can." His eyes held a pure fire, and Aragorn felt himself once again lifted from despair as he smiled at the lad.

"Such bravery from one so young," Kelegalen marveled as he too smiled at Nethtalt.

"It is a treasure one does not see often," Legolas agreed, "but it can be abundant in some, and unremitting in it's consistency." The elf sent Aragorn a pointed, if humorous, look, as he once again compared their ages, but Aragorn only smiled in return.

"Can we truly make an escape plan with so few?" Nethtalt asked, sitting close to Kelegalen, his thin face openly curious.

"If it is a well thought out plan," Legolas nodded, "but we must be careful. What Bronadui said is true: Furnmorth's forces are not retaining hundreds of slaves by being lazy and careless. We must be very careful that our plan has many alternatives in case something goes wrong."

"First we should decide what will draw enough attention that the guards will not notice your escape," Kelegalen suggested.

Aragorn's mind sorted through the possibilities — an over turned pile of armor, a sudden slave brawl — but none of these were likely to work, and even if they did, it would be difficult to make it serious enough to draw all Naraka's men to them.

"What if we were to spill something," the ranger suggested doubtfully, "like melted metal?"

"No," Legolas shook his head slowly, "people could get hurt." 

"What is it Nethtalt?" Kelegalen asked abruptly, turning to the boy who was frowning down at his hands, seemingly in deep thought, as if he was trying to take hold of an idea.

"No," he said carefully, causing them all to watch him closely, "not spilling melted metal..."

^^^^^^^^^^^

The plan was a good one. Legolas admitted to feeling surprise that, with the exception of a few minor adjustments, Nethtalt had come up with it nearly on his own. Truly the insight of the child was great.

The lad had stayed awake long talking to the others, but had finally succumbed to fatigue and, leaning against Kelegalen, he'd drifted into a peaceful slumber. The man of Rohan had wrapped an arm around the boy, and he too soon fell asleep. Now only Aragorn and Legolas were still awake in the chamber.

"Do you think this will work, Legolas?" Aragorn asked, his voice no louder than a breath.

"Yes, I do," Legolas nodded. "It is dangerous and allows for only one chance at escape, but hopefully none will be hurt, and it is worth the risk to avoid any injury to others."

Aragorn nodded in agreement, "That is true." His last word was drowned as he felt sleep beginning to overtake him.

"Strider," Legolas' voice drew Aragorn back, and he looked hazily up at his friend. "Strider we are walking into a great danger," the elf whispered when he was sure the ranger was listening. "It is not likely, but possible, that one of us may not make it out. Now I wish for you to *promise* me that you will continue on to Gilthad and warn the dwarves. Even if I am not with you, you must swear to complete the mission. You know how much is at stake."

"Wait," Aragorn was fully awake now and staring hard at his friend. "What do you mean 'if you're not with me'?"

"I'm weak Aragorn," Legolas admitted. "Right now I am sure I will make it out, but Illuvitar knows things can go wrong, and if we are separated and you are able to escape: do so. You must promise me this."

Aragorn knew what he was promising; he understood that it was no light matter, as did Legolas. The two friends were bound to each other by a strong friendship and it was deep in both of them to never abandon a comrade, but Legolas was right: with so much at stake, both had to be willing to sacrifice whatever they must to see the task completed. To see Gilthad saved. 

He nodded with firmness and gripped Legolas' forearm tightly, "I swear to you, Legolas Greenleaf, I will not let our mission fail, even if I am alone." The ranger saw relief in the elf's face, as if some great burden had been lifted, and this made him uneasy. "You must promise as well Legolas," he prompted after a moment.

Legolas nodded, though he seemed reluctant, "Yes Aragorn, son of Arathorn, I swear to you, I will not let this mission fail, even if I be alone." The elf reached out his free hand and gripped Aragorn's forearm. They knew what they had to do, they knew what it could cost, but they were prepared to do it. They had the strength and the will.

****

TBC…


	11. Escape With Cost

****

Hannah (Siri) Is STILL here!! ;)

*glows* Thanks for all the delightful feedback!! You made our day!! :D

Ecri, unfortunately, I fear no body guard would have them ;) They get into a *little* too much trouble for that ;)

Yes, Emmithar, it's true that it seems Legolas has more energy, but I think he's just better at hiding it. Truth be known he's a little more worse off than the human because he's got his ever growing sickness. There really both pretty bad off, but Legolas, as an elf, is much better at hiding it =)

Thank you Jay!! Ah yes well, we do tend take a couple leaves from Cassia/Sio's books. ;)

*blushes* Thank you Littlefish!! I am so glad you are enjoying it!! Yes, well, you are not exactly meant to like Naraka or Furnmorth ;) And unfortunately for our heros, there has to be more to come, since we've just hit the half-way mark in this story. =D

And now, onto the next chapter!!

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 11

Escape With Cost

Somewhere beyond the dark stone, the sun must have risen, but on that score the slaves could only take the word of the guards who roused them. Nearly healed of all but weariness and the strange, clinging sickness that seemed to increase by the day, Legolas nevertheless walked calmly down the tunnel to the foundries, passing halfway there the slaves who were being relieved. His eyes darted keenly to Aragorn, who was walking in front of him: ready to steady the man if he stumbled. Even with only several days of recovery time behind him, Aragorn had improved rapidly, but he had not yet regained his full strength, as his difficulties during the previous day clearly showed. Briefly, Legolas wondered if it was wise to attempt an escape when neither of them were very strong, but then he shook himself, remembering that they could not afford to wait. With only a matter of days before the intended commencement of Furnmorth's plans, it was imperative that they start for Gilthad immediately.

Straightening as he came out of the passageway, Legolas turned to follow Aragorn to their day's assignment at the cutting blocks and was halted in mid-step.

"Elf!" The word itself was almost lost in the sharp tone, the syllable coming out more like a sudden bark instead of an intelligible summons.

Hurriedly, Legolas gestured Aragorn onwards, not wanting him to be caught away from his post when the owner of the loud voice finally reached them. For a moment, Aragorn hesitated, his thoughts clear in the way his eyes flicked from Legolas, to the cooling pools, to the slag heaps, and back to Legolas. The elf caught his gaze and held it, willing him to remember their words to each other the night before. A sickening heartbeat of indecision followed as the ranger remained still; Legolas began to wonder if the promise he had gained from the young man would be worth anything, now that it appeared it might be put to the test. Then Aragorn jerked his head, and started towards his block. The elf let out a relieved breath. Maybe one day he would remember not to underestimate his friend.

A moment later, Legolas was backhanded hard as the man who had been calling him finally reached his side. "Answer, slave!" Naraka snapped, his now infamous temper rising.

Legolas dropped his eyes in an act of humility, above all else not wanting to cause trouble if there was none yet to worry about. His own pride could not be allowed to jeopardize the safety of his home. "Yes, sir?"

Naraka's eyes glittered, but he seemed to be in a hurry, and did not have time to punish the elf, "I believe it is time you moved on with your skills." Reaching out his hand in a swift, snakelike move, he caught a fistful of the elf's tunic and pulled, half dragging Legolas across the foundry behind him. Wincing at the treatment, the elf kept silent, following quickly and only realizing when he reached his destination just where Naraka had reassigned him. 

The forges were smaller, but that did not lessen the activity, and after a harsh jerk, to remind the elf who owned him, Naraka left him. Fairly knowledgeable about the different kinds of metal work by now, Legolas took up the empty place and began work on the knives that were being hammered, trying not to remember that it was these same daggers that had given Aragorn so many grievous cuts.

The elf felt more hopeful, now that he had simply been moved instead of taken away entirely, but he was still much farther across the cavern than Aragorn, and with only a few minutes in which to make their escape, he couldn't afford to waste any time on running.

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Aragorn's shoulders had tensed at Naraka's rough treatment of Legolas, and for a moment he had feared that the captain had something terrible in mind for the elf, in which case he could not merely stand by and watch it happen. Not even for Mirkwood. Still, remembering his promise, he managed to restrain himself long enough to recall what the elf had told him about Naraka's seeming inability to decide where in the foundries he was best suited.

Wrenching his thoughts back to the task at hand, Aragorn returned to his work, clipping away cautiously, and all the while keeping one careful eye turned slightly towards the small path that wound between the various armor piles and forges from the mould workings. In case Legolas was unable to reach him, he would have to follow through on his own.

Aragorn had completed only one breastplate before he caught sight of his signal. Kelegalen was walking towards the cooling pools with a bucket on his arm, apparently to refill it for one of the smaller forges. Water was only available to these when hauled up from the springs by one of the slaves. Except that Kelegalen's post was *not* small, possessing, in fact, it's own separate spring; and what was not so apparent about him was the thin, sharp piece of metal that was concealed in the bottom of the bucket.

Setting to work again on his piece of armor, Aragorn went over it several more times, as if looking for mistakes, carefully taking his time as he drew out his examination, all the while counting silently in his head.

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Moving quickly, Kelegalen looked straight ahead, keeping the bucket still so that the leftover scrap of steel wouldn't rattle around. Reaching the cooling pools, he all but disappeared in the steam as a half completed helmet was thrust in, and then removed. When the steam cleared, there was a boy beside him.

"Here," Kelegalen said briefly, pulling out the improvised blade. Nethtalt took it, sliding it up what was left of his sleeve, and to the man's surprise, he almost seemed to smile… However, before Kelegalen could be sure of it, the lad was gone, and though he knew Nethtalt was even now climbing up to the top of the sluice gate, he could not see him through the clouds of steam and ash.

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Reaching the end of his count, Aragorn lifted the breastplate as if he were finally satisfied with it, and made his way towards the heap of armor. Casting his glance left and right, he caught sight of his goal and slowed; it wouldn't do to pass it too early.

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Across the cavern, there had been no way of seeing the signal, and Legolas was still working diligently away on completing his first blade. One thing he felt he must give Furnmorth credit for, if not design, was the quality of his metal. The steel was light and flexible, making the daggers ideal for throwing —

There was a rushing sound of water that reverberated loudly through the cavern, a sloshing, pouring maelstrom that seemed to hurl itself over it's confining walls at the foundry entrance and everything near it. The loud *hhhhhhshshshshshsssssssssing* of liquid streaming over softened metal nearly covered the startled cries of the slaves as their work changed suddenly from red, to black again, and the air around them turned clingy with moisture. Billowing steam from the doused forges clouded the ceiling, tinted red by the remaining fires, and fogged the pool from view as it slowly spread itself across the lower end of the floor.

Confusion covered the faces of the slaves whom the water could not reach, and many halted where they stood, seemingly unable to comprehend what was taking place in their oppressive prison. It did not surprise the elf, therefore, when they did not notice his prompt departure.

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The minute Nethtalt dropped from the gate to the cavern floor, Kelegalen took his arm and led him through the slowly collecting water and the concealing steam back to the mould workings. Positioning the boy at the workings' own sluice gate, Kelegalen was preparing to return to his work, when he felt the lad's hand on his elbow. Nethtalt did not say a word, and could not have been heard even if he had spoken, but his smile was no longer hidden. He had just defied the ones who had killed his father.

Whatever the diversion had given Strider and Legolas, it had returned to Nethtalt some of his own.

//Be swift, friends.// Kelegalen thought silently. //You are Nethtalt's hope as well as Mirkwood's.//

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Aragorn had not anticipated the amount of steam the released water would produce, but even as the warm moisture began to wet his clothing, he was already moving towards his goal. A large, rough tunnel led from within sight of Kelegalen's post to the southern slopes of the mountain, and here was where all the unusable rubble was sent: broken stone, impure metal, and other debris. Here, once every few days, the chute-like exit was opened and everything thrown in. And here, if they had timed everything as they had planned to, would he make his escape.

Pushing between the startled slaves, Aragorn threw his breastplate away and started to run, but abruptly felt his feet pulled out from under him, as if he had tangled them in something. Twisting, he found Orkhalla, one of Naraka's men, with his whip out, his face impassive. Most of the guards had fallen for the ruse and traveled to the sluice gate to see what had caused it to drop, but Orkhalla had clearly not been one of them.

Thrashing to get his legs loose of the coils that had tripped him, Aragorn hurled a helmet that came to his hand at Orkhalla's head, but the guard dodged it and brought his foot down on Aragorn's wrist. 

"Stop struggling, or I'll give you something to struggle over," the man nearly shouted above the noise. Rolling quickly towards the boot that was imprisoning his arm, Aragorn managed to use Orkhalla's uneven stance against him, sending the guard crashing into an open forge mouth. It had already been cooled by the first rush of Nethtalt's tide, but the water had begun to flow back to it's original pool now as the guards and slaves managed to raise the gate once more.

They were running out of time.

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Risking a leap directly over an open fire pit, Legolas landed and continued running, not even noticing that he still carried his nearly completed weapon. Balancing lightly on the long arm of a lever, he followed the downward sloping beam, and landed on a shifting pile of gravel, left there after the enlargement of the stream bed when the pools were dammed. Sliding down, yet keeping more or less balanced as he fell, he flinched as the sharp rocks gouged him in passing. Reaching the bottom, he darted between two of Naraka's men almost faster than they could notice, and then skirted the entire tool workers' area and broke into a run. Aragorn had likely already gotten out, but there was a good chance he would need someone to act as rearguard as he made his escape.

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Rising hastily to his feet, desperate to reach the way out before Naraka's men finished with the water and began to turn their attention to the slaves once more, Aragorn got two steps further before he was slammed down again, this time by a hard blow to the back of his head.

"Lord Furnmorth told me you would cause trouble," Naraka hissed, his tone more gloating than angry. "I would have thought the army's sport with you would have done you in, but it seems things will not be that simple." Planting his knee in Aragorn lower back, he wrenched the ranger's arms around, reaching for one of the leather thongs he kept hanging on his belt for just this use. "Complicated solutions are always more interesting though, don't you agree?" He muttered as he began to wrap the thong around Aragorn's bruised wrists. Not caring, if he noticed, the look of pain on the ranger's face as his injuries were aggravated from the harsh treatment.

Even as he twisted and fought against the bonds, Aragorn could see through the clearing mists as the slag tunnel's entrance was closed firmly and barred. He was too late. He had failed.

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Sidestepping quickly as an unstable mound of armor fell almost directly onto his head, Legolas continued to run, recognizing ahead the place where the cavern roof curved down to meet the floor — except in one point where a tunnel led outwards to freedom. Even as he recognized the place, he realized that the door had already been closed, but it was not until he caught sight of two men wrestling a third to the ground that his heart turned cold. The third figure was all too familiar. Aragorn had not escaped either.

A sudden cry from the Dúnadan as Naraka's knee pressed even more sharply into his back brought Legolas suddenly out of his defeat. The confusion had not yet subsided: there was still a possibility that they could elude their captors. Without even pausing to remember what it was he held, his hand driven more by instinct than real thought, Legolas flung the knife at the captain's exposed back.

Whether it was his own instinct that saved him, or simply chance, Naraka twisted at the very moment the dagger reached him, so that it found it's mark instead in Orkhalla's chest, directly between his ribs. Startled, Naraka released Aragorn's wrists and reached for his sword, but Legolas flew at him, wrapping his arm around the captain's throat and pulling back hard as Aragorn struggled free and slid out of the leather straps that held him.

Clawing at the elf's arm, the captain reached around to grab Legolas' head, but couldn't seem to find it as the elf evaded his grasping hands, and finally freed him altogether. Leaving the cruel man gasping, the two friends rapidly retraced Legolas' steps towards the foundry entrance and, bare seconds after they entered the passageway and started upwards towards the mountain itself, they heard the captain's hoarse voice demanding that they be pursued.

Running headlong up the tunnel, Aragorn was only saved from colliding with another of Furnmorth's human soldiers by Legolas' restraining grip on the back of his tunic. Slipping around the soldier before he could detain them, the companions' positions switched as Legolas now took the lead, pulling his friend steadily behind him, trying not to exceed the injured ranger's pace while at the same time hurrying him upward. A horn call echoed around them, carried through the halls and rooms and reverberating ever outwards.

"Legolas, where are we going?" Aragorn had just breath to ask.

The elf had no chance to answer as a group of three men blocked the passage ahead and he was forced to concentrate on fighting his way through. Following his companion's example, Aragorn ducked the knife of one man and then turned it on him, driving it into the guard's shoulder and leaving him even as Legolas tripped the third one onto his back and gestured the ranger on. "Quickly, Strider, we have little time!"

Further up they ran, and Aragorn's legs began to tire from the exertion, until he wished most of all to be given a little rest, but knew it would do no good to ask for it. The calls of the men rebounded through the passages around them, but it appeared that Naraka had not organized a systematic search, and none of the guards seemed clear as to which direction the slaves had gone.

Reaching the upper levels at last, Aragorn could see little difference between the rooms above and the chambers below, except for the faint white glow of daylight which occasionally slanted down from loopholes in the walls. Legolas seemed to become even quicker as the faint glimpses of slate-gray sky rushed past them and the sound of a cold wind outside whistled through the vent shafts. This was what he had been longing for, uninviting as it might seem to others, and now that it was finally granted him, neither ill treatment nor long toil could drag at his feet.

The ranger behind him was not so agile. Beginning to gasp, Aragorn knew that even were they to find a window or a door to the outside, he would be unable to make a running escape all the way to Gilthad. But Legolas would not leave him, so he stumbled on.

They had only just reached a long, straight hall, better made than the others, when at the opposite end there appeared a group of men, with Lord Furnmorth at their head. For a moment, Furnmorth's eyes met Aragorn's. Recognition. Then Legolas slammed open an entrance on the left, and pulled the ranger through to the chamber beyond, closing the heavy door behind them and dropping the bar. Aragorn collapsed against the wall, his chest heaving painfully, the old wound in his leg flaming, as the elf considered their surroundings in the dim light from a torch bracketed by the door. There was a bed with furs on it, a second cloak hanging from a peg, and a large desk with a stack of parchment, a few raven quills, ink, sealing wax and a signet ring grouped together neatly. Legolas' sharp eyes caught the device on the ring, remembering the symbols on the helmets and breastplates and weapons. "This is Lord Furnmorth's room," the elf announced suddenly, giving the sparse walls an even closer look, for if the lord of the mountain slept here, it was possible that there would be… "Strider, there is a window here!" Flinging wide the heavy wooden shutters that protected the opening against arrows, Legolas sprang lightly to the sill, looking down the slope below.

Here the crags of the mountain rose, making a sort of rocky outcrop that spiked upwards, and the elf could tell it would be too steep to escape that way, but below the window itself there was a ledge that traveled out of sight around the mountainside, making a small trail that might possibly lead to a shallower drop. Nodding to Aragorn, who had come up behind him, Legolas dropped lightly down, and waited, steadying the ranger when he too dropped to land beside him. Wincing at the abrupt change from close warmth to sharp chill, Aragorn hugged the rock face and started down the narrow trail after his friend.

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Lord Furnmorth gave a patient sigh, his very presence giving the men around him a feeling that the situation was well within their lord's control. "They have closed themselves off in there: only one escape exists that way." There was no hint in his voice of his feelings at seeing The Slave out once more.

Glancing up, he arched an eyebrow at his captain, who had now come rattling into the very spot at the opposite end of the hall that the slaves had just vacated. Naraka swallowed, recognizing that he had failed yet again.

"Captain," Furnmorth said easily, too far away for Naraka to read his eyes, "come with me. I know where they will end out."

Passing through one of the more poorly made — and therefore seldom used — corridors, Furnmorth spoke composedly to his captain, his voice low, "I would prefer you take them alive if at all possible. The recent trouble in the forge has denied us even further the ability to discard slaves lightly. However, surprise is paramount, and if their objective is the Gilthad, it would be better to simply fell them."

Naraka nodded tersely, turning and giving orders to three of his men, "Go, get bows from the armory."

Furnmorth allowed his mouth to twitch into a faint smile, feeling satisfaction as his assessment of the captain was born out. Naraka might be an unpredictable and violent warrior at times, but he understood tactics and would do his work well.

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The ledge finally dropped away completely, but several feet beyond it, there was a wide flat space. Leaping the gap easily, Legolas steadied Aragorn once again as the ranger joined him, and the two started quickly towards some larger outcroppings of rock at the edge of the plateau. Beyond these, just visible, was the edge of the mountain, and below that: the snow covered ground. 

"Can we climb down that way?" Aragorn sounded doubtful, even through his heavy breathing.

Legolas nodded, stepping nimbly over a long fissure, "Easily."

They had nearly reached the larger rocks when there was a whistling, followed by a smattering *sschink* as an arrow ricocheted away from Legolas' feet, followed quickly by a second, third and fourth. From behind them, at another unboarded window that they had not noticed, Naraka's men were firing arrows at their legs, trying to bring them down.

It was an unexpected difficulty, and for a vital half second, Aragorn froze, unsure which of the two closest rocks he should take cover behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw a dark flash and heard his friend's cry as a well-aimed arrow finally found it's target in his leg. Grabbing Aragorn's wrists, Legolas heaved him behind the leftmost of the rocks, arrows splintering around him as the archers made one last attempt to hit them before they reached cover.

Aragorn's face was now completely white as his glazed eyes focused on the shaft protruding from his leg, the feather on the end shivering as he gasped. Not eight feet further, the ground dropped away. "Legolas," Aragorn said suddenly, gripping his friend's arm.

The arrows had ceased and Legolas knew the men would even now be climbing from the window and coming closer, so he shook his head, "Not now, Strider. Come, lean on me, we still have time."

"No, Legolas," Aragorn shook his head, "*you* still have time. I can go no further." The elf started to shake his head again, but his friend cut him off sharply, "Go, Legolas!"

*…Aragorn, son of Arathorn, I swear to you, I will not let this mission fail, even if I be alone…*

Casting one last agonized glance at the ranger's drawn face, Legolas tore himself away. Sliding over the edge of the cliff, his hands and feet easily finding a path downwards, the elf's golden head disappeared from view. 

Aragorn felt a sigh of relief vibrate his chest, almost covering his sudden panic: he was now alone in Gundabad.

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Using his natural agility, Legolas reached the base of the cliff in only a few minutes time, dropping the last distance to land lightly on the top of the snow drifts that had piled against the mountain side. Down here the wind was given free reign of the valleys and the cold was bitter, but Legolas did not notice this any more than he had when first arriving, and, putting aside any lingering doubts over his decision, he set off at a run. When he had placed some distance between himself and the assured pursuit, then there would be time to rest.

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Aragorn inhaled sharply as he was once more turned face down and restrained, but this time he did not resist the leather thongs as they were wrapped tightly around his wrists. He was too weary.

Through vision that was blurred by exhaustion, he recognized Furnmorth's boots as the lord stood in front of him, gazing down at his prostrate form. "Captain," Furnmorth's voice remained as tranquil as a still pool, "when you are through binding the runaway, it would be well if you were to take several men and retrieve the other. He might cause trouble if he is allowed to run free."

Finishing with Aragorn, Naraka rose to catch sight of his lord's eyes. *Death, if you fail.* 

Naraka almost winced at the words, as clearly stated as if they had been spoken, and ducked his head, "Of course, my lord."

"Good." 

Furnmorth, satisfied that his unvoiced threat would adequately motivate his captain, started towards the window once more, and then paused. "And Captain?"

"Yes, sir?" Naraka straightened to a more alert posture, expecting further orders.

Furnmorth's face was once more almost benevolent as he tilted his head towards Legolas' route, "You may finish him if you must."

Naraka's lip curled: he understood. "Yes sir." When Furnmorth was out of sight, Naraka turned to his men, "Agarwaen, take the slave back — Lord Furnmorth will decide his punishment. Balkhfiren, Mekhor, come with me."

Following the path of the elf, the three men started down the cliff face. Well fed and strong, they reached the bottom in good time and set out through the drifts, the elf still visible in the distance.

This would be entertaining.

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TBC…


	12. Flight Through the Mountains

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Sarah here at last, and I'm so glad you all liked it!

Seska: one of the best stories on the site? *turns red* My, that's very high praise indeed! : )

Cassia: AHA! We finally managed to strike *you* speachless! It's about time, considering how effortlessly you do the same thing to us. And wait just a minute: *our* cliff-hangers were to get back at you for all the ones you already tortured us with. If you put more in Seventh Stone, then we'll be forced to put even *more* in our next fic to get square with you! Not that I'm expecting that to deter you, or anything... ; )

SpaceVixen: I'm rather hoping he'll survive also. After all, if Legolas dies, who will we torture? Besides Aragorn, of course.

Halo: I give up! No matter what we do, you always wind up hysterical. *sighs, helps Halo put a band aid on her nose* Still, I suppose our two heroes are glad your here to protest our treatment of them so vehemently... Not that it changes their fate much, but at least you're there to care. ; )

Astaldocalwen:Welcome! And thanks. : )

Lina Skye: You know, you really should have taken 'Gilraen' as your screen name, since you seem so intent on mothering our favorite ranger! As to his fate: well, that's classified, but we will be sure to reveal it at a later date. *smiles brightly*

Ecri: Did I really keep you guessing? Cool! I wasn't sure if it came off too obvious or not, so I'm glad you mentioned that. : )

Emmithar: Quite aside from hiding it better, it's all a matter of comparisons! At the beginning, compared to Aragorn (who was still pretty healthy), Legolas looked absolutely flat-out awful, but when Aragorn got injured even worse, the comparison made Legolas look a little better. As for leaving his best friend behind: beleive me, we wrestled with the problem for a long time! In the end, we decided that when faced with the decision to leave the other behind (Aragorn at the beginning, Legolas at the end) they knew full well both what was at stake, and how their friend wanted them to act, and that would at least leave them the *option* of going on their own. Faced also with the fact that Aragorn wouldn't be able to handle a good run across snow covered mountains, Legolas did what needed to be done. A complicated sort of mess, but really, even that is merely *our* oppinion, and yours is free to differ! I'm glad you're liking it! : )

Infinitys-End: Welcome to you too! We don't know Cassia and Sio in a face-to-face sort of way (i.e. we've never met in person), but we know them fairly well through the 'net. Our cliffhangers are, in fact, something of a revenge on them for doing so many. We'll try and releive you of your unpleasent imaginings ASAP, but I'm afraid it will get worse before it gets better... (yes, that *is* still possible). Glad you're liking it! : )

Thanks so much for all the lovely feedback!!!

Oh yeah, and you guys wanted a post too, didn't you...? ; )

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Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 12

Flight Through The Mountains

Having not seen his pursuers for hours, Legolas occasionally began to doubt they were still behind him, but then the crunch of feet punching through the ice crust, or the crackle of falling rocks would reach him faintly, and he would press on, unafraid of an ambush before him at least. They were having a difficult time navigating the snow which was something the nimble elf had counted on, but they also knew of short cuts and safer paths of which Legolas was ignorant, and not once had he gotten a significant enough lead on the men to rest. He was hurting inside and out from long captivity and old injuries, and his head was throbbing with the constant motion, but could not pause for breath, nor break his stride. 

Legolas threw one glance over his shoulder, his sharp gray eyes quickly moving around rock outcroppings and stunted, snow bitten trees, but he could not see the men behind him. Naraka was clever, not deigning to lease arrows at his prey, and thereby give away his position, until he was sure of a clear shot. 

Yet even with all this, he was suddenly much stronger under the brilliant sun as the fresh air breathed around him, sending his hair ruffling behind him as he ran.

//If only Aragorn—//

Legolas stopped himself. Right now the only way he could help his friend was by getting to Gilthad. If he could only convince the dwarves of their danger, then he would return and rescue the slaves...rescue his friend. 

The elf pressed on across the heavy drifts of snow that thickly blanketed the mountain side; he was afraid this snow would not last and, if it didn't, he would not have the advantage over the men and he would need to devise a new plan. 

Not far ahead his fears were confirmed: slowly but steadily the drifts were thinning out, and once on an even footing with him, his pursuers would be able to gain ground. Legolas was fast — far more swift then the men — but he was weaker than usual, even below the sun's warming rays, and his legs throbbed where the burns had not yet healed completely.

Quickly, his gaze darted about the many caves and alcoves lining the path around him. Melted and scorched around their edges, they rose up high on the mountain slopes: old abandoned dragon caves, he identified them without a doubt. Perhaps he could—

His thought was cut off as an arrow pinged off the rock by his head, and swiftly he dodged to the side. The arrow had missed him by bare inches. 

Urgently he pressed on, his eyes still searching the caves around and above him, a plan slowly forming in his mind.

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"Brilliant Mekhor." Naraka growled, watching the arrow fall harmlessly to the ground and the elf continuing on more swiftly. "What did I tell you about giving away our position?"

"I had a clear shot," Mekhor protested.

"Well quite obviously you didn't!" The captain snapped, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter; once he reaches the warmer patches, he won't be able to outrun us."

The three trackers continued after their prey, staying close on his tail, but ever hampered by the deep drifts, which came nearly to their waists at the highest. Naraka glared as a glint of light reflected briefly off the elf's golden hair.

"You wait *elf*," he spat. "You won't escape me."

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Legolas had to time his jump just right — the stray arrow had given him the trackers' full position and they were closer than he had thought. When he had rounded a sharp corner between a rock form and the cliff side he quickly ducked to the left and leapt up towards the nearest cave. His strength was waning, but he was able to almost reach the ledge in front of the high entrance, and by quickly gripping the rocks above him, he managed to pull himself safely up. 

Knowing he had only a few moments before his pursuers rounded the same corner, he counted down the seconds in his head as he reached the cave mouth and threw himself inside only an instant before the three men came into view.

Legolas steadied his breathing as the rush of adrenaline wore away, and, stealing a glance down the cliff side, he saw the men searching for evidence of his passing. Legolas' hope was that they would find nothing and continue on, assuming he was still ahead of them, but Naraka was shrewd, possessing the uncanny sixth sense common in hunters, and after five minutes it became clear to the prince that they were not going to leave until they knew for sure where he'd gone. The elf leaned against the rock wall and exhaled slowly — he knew he'd worked himself into a corner, and unless he thought of something soon, the men would realize he'd gone up the rocks. Unfortunately, he hadn't given much care to covering his path, so rushed had he been to reach the cavern entrance.

He glanced down once again at the trackers: Naraka was pointing something out to his men, but he hadn't looked in Legolas' direction once....perhaps they had the wrong direction? The elf carefully leaned further out, trying to see what they were looking at, hoping against hope that it would lead them the wrong way, and he was just beginning to make out a moss covered rock by the captain's feet, when quite suddenly Naraka whirled around, his eyes locking directly on to his target. Legolas was so shocked he stumbled back into the cave, and not a moment too soon, as all three of the men had strung their bows with an arrow. At the very instant Legolas jumped back three shafts struck the lip of the cave just where he'd been standing. The elf's heart hammered as his mind worked tensely on what to do. Naraka was a better tracker than he'd thought: the man had known Legolas' position from the moment he rounded the corner, and had only been waiting for the elf to foolishly reveal himself. 

Weaponless, Legolas ran to the back of the cave, hoping to at least preserve the element of surprise. He had gone only four paces when, so suddenly that he could not even make a sound, his feet dropped out from under him and he fell down into a narrow shaft in the floor of the cave.

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"We missed him!" Balkhfiren exclaimed in frustration.

"Yes, but it is of little matter." Naraka replied coolly. "He's not going anywhere in that cave. Mekhor and I will go and retrieve him."

"What should I do?" Balkhfiren asked.

"You will remain here and capture him if he slips past us and tries to leave." 

Naraka motioned to Mekhor and the two started for the mountain side. He had the elf within his grasp, and he was not taking any chances.

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Legolas groaned and slowly rose up on his elbows, staring around the darkened chamber.

//This is why I do not like caves// he thought ruefully, letting out a breath and slowly getting to his feet. He was relieved to find he could still stand in the darkened place: the ceiling was a good distance above him, and he had no serious injuries to prevent him. It was pitch black except for a fogged glow that filtered down the shaft from the cave above. Putting a hand to his head, Legolas wasn't surprised to feel blood on his right temple, and he felt around for other injuries, but only found a few cuts and bruises. 

It was only a matter of time before his pursuers discovered where he'd gone — Naraka in any case would find him soon enough — and the elf moved around the outer edge of the small cavern searching for an exit of some kind. From what he could feel and the little he could distinguish with his keen sight, he decided that he must have fallen into a sort of storage room for the den above. He had the unpleasant feeling that this had been the beast's place for unwanted carcasses, as beneath his feet came the dry snapping sounds of old bones. 

Soon he found what he was looking for: a good sized crevice in the wall that, if his senses did not deceive him, would lead him to a second cave, opening out onto the path he had been taking — he could smell the air whispering through to him. However, if he was incorrect, then he would reach a dead end and have no where left to run. 

Suddenly he heard the crackling of rocks cascading past the wall — the men had reached the cave and were now searching for him. Biting back a sudden sense of claustrophobia, Legolas squeezed into the crevice and started moving towards the source of the light trickle of air. It didn't take long for Legolas to start worrying that he would get wedged in between the tight rock walls; he felt the sinking feeling press down on him and found himself struggling to breath. Suddenly the walls were closing in, they were crushing him, he was being squeezed to death. His legs were trapped, he tried to move but the rocks only crushed him harder, he couldn't escape —

Legolas instantly shut his eyes, forcing himself not to think about the walls or the dark, taking several deep breaths and reminding himself that he was far from that hope-forsaken cave that had crashed in on itself so many centuries ago. He reopened his eyes and looked around, only to reassure himself that he was indeed still in the crevice, then, bracing himself, he continued to push through the small opening. 

Several feet later he felt the reassuring breath of air swell and knew he was heading to an open cave. He pushed himself the last few yards to the edge of the crevice and nearly fell out into the opening. This cave was much like the other further above, and Legolas was relieved that nothing was living in it. Moving quickly to the cave mouth he risked a keen gaze around the corner. About fifty feet away from him he could see one of the men standing guard by the base of the cliff, but no others were in sight. Letting out a relieved breath, moving without hesitation, he ran from the cave and quickly disappeared around the next sharp bend of the mountain, putting as much distance between himself and the men as he could.

^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Naraka looked around the small cave and studied the hole that Mekhor had discovered, his sharp eyes probing it and his ears listening closely.

"Should we search down there?" Mekhor asked quietly.

Naraka waited — he could not hear the elf below, but somehow he had a feeling the slave had gone this way. Finally he nodded and the two used rope to lower themselves down the shaft. The small cavern was impossible to see in, but the two felt around for the elf and there were no traces to be found.

Mekhor shook his head in wonder. "He must have escaped past us and Balkhfiren."

"Yes, and no." Naraka responded. "He got past us yes, but not in the way you think." Naraka ran his hand the length of the crevice he'd found — how the elf fit through it was a marvel, but this hardly mattered. "We must make haste." Naraka snapped, grabbing his rope. "We can't let him gain too much headway."

The two climbed back up and moved quickly down the mountain. The elf was clever, Naraka could see, but this didn't matter. He *was* going to catch the slave, and he was going to kill him.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Aragorn fell again, his knees, refusing to hold him up a moment longer, had buckled harshly, dropping him to the ground. He felt the cold stone grind into his skin and let out a slight gasp of pain, but he quickly bit it back. After all, the pain he felt in his hands was nothing compared to the strokes laid on his back.

"Get up!" The guards spat giving Aragorn a swift kick. The young ranger stumbled to his feet again and fumbled back to the work to which he had been assigned. He was tired, hurting and starved, but this made little difference; at least Legolas had escaped.

His punishment had been cruel, as Furnmorth had promised when the prisoner had been thrown back in with the slaves. He had been refused food and barely any water — only enough to keep him from dehydrating — for three days, as well as receiving a brutal beating he wouldn't soon forget. 

Gripping his hammer again he returned to the grueling shaping of round, metal helmets. Never had he felt so alone, without his friend, and surrounded by the lingering fear that Legolas might be too late, and the dwarves would not be warned in time. Aragorn squinted against a sudden wave of burning air and cracked his hammer against the iron once more. Carefully he scrubbed his tunic sleeve across his forehead, trying to relieve it of it's perspiration, and once more his shoulders flared with fire at the sudden movement. 

Also still deeply painful was the arrow wound in his leg. Furnmorth's men had not been careful when extracting it and it throbbed constantly, often causing the ranger to stumble. Almost desperately, he tried hard to see past that. Here in the gloom and loneliness he comforted himself that Legolas was free, that he was going to warn the dwarves and that Naraka and his trackers would never capture the elf. 

It was his one lone comfort — a single lifeline to cling to — but it was enough. 

Aragorn dropped his hammer to iron again and let the sharp clang ring out through the foundry. No, he would not give up; he would hold on, he would wait, and he would hope.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas fell against a tree, even his slight weight bruising it's frail bark. His fatigue had built up against him for the past miles; he had been running without pause and he was beginning to feel it. Letting out a smoky breath into the cold air he looked around him. Naraka and his men had still not caught up to him, but he knew for sure that they were somewhere behind him, and they were not far.

For another minute he pressed his back against the tree, trying hard to regain his strength. A short while ago he had run across several deep drifts — these had not been trouble for him and he knew that it would slow his pursuers down for a time — but now there was hardly any snow on the slopes ahead and he knew he couldn't afford to rest a moment longer. Pushing away from the tree he began to run once again, hoping that he would come to deep drifts once again before he lost all his gained lead. His chest burned with the constant inhalation of freezing air, and the wounds on his legs still beat firmly against his progress, but thoughts of his home mingled with his loyalty to his friend melded into a strong will against the fatigue and against the opposition.

Legolas scanned his eyes ahead, searching desperately for further thick drifts. All along the way he had been forced to dodge in and out of abandoned dragon caves, to keep his pursuers from knowing his position. Though he had not yet come so close to capture as he had the first time, he planned never to let them get that near again. 

At last, up ahead of him, his bright eyes caught sight of some heavy masses of snow, piled high and long against mountains. He let out a relieved breath and pushed himself towards it.

^^^^^^^^^^^

"Captain!" Mekhor hissed. "We must catch the slave before he reaches the Iron Drifts; you know we could never navigate that area."

"And he'll be right on top of Gilthad if he gets through." Balkhfiren added.

"I know this!" Naraka snapped irritably. This elf was able to evade him well, but there was yet one path that would give him all the space for capture he would need. "I mean to break off at Sire Fork." He cocked his head towards the break in the path ahead. "The slave will not be expecting this." He murmured to himself, then turned to address his two men. "You keep on ahead and attempt to get as close as you can, but I do not have much hope that you will."

"Yes, Captain," the two hunters agreed. Naraka smiled cunningly as he turned off at Sire Fork. The elf had no way of expecting this at all.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas felt his heart throb with tension, though he was certain he would be able to reach the drifts now; he could neither hear, see, or sense the hunters behind him any longer. Just the same, he put on an extra burst of speed.

He had reached the ground but four feet from the drifts when the attack came. So suddenly that Legolas could scarce place what had hit him, he felt Naraka drop just behind him. Whirling for one startled moment he saw the Captain leer at him cruelly, then lunge at him. Legolas bolted towards the drifts, but Naraka had been expecting it.

"Oh no you don't." He growled. 

Leaping after the elf, he whipped out a hand and tangled his fingers in the edges of Legolas' long, golden hair and yanked the prince backwards hard. Legolas felt his heart throbbing in his ears. This could not be happening! He had been so close to his destination, he could not be captured now. 

Naraka jerked Legolas close to him and, yanking out one of the knives strapped to his side, he pressed it against the elf's cheek and smiled. "It will be my pleasure to kill you, elf." He sneered in Legolas' ear. In a sudden flash of inspiration, Legolas knew what to do. Faster than any man's eye could follow, he reached a hand behind him and jerked the other knife from Naraka's belt. 

And with sharp accuracy, the prince sliced the weapon neatly through his own hair, cutting himself free. 

Naraka froze, shocked, his second lunge a moment too late, and even as his dagger dug into the elf's cheek, Legolas tore away from him and crossed the distance between the captain and the drifts, running swiftly across the snow with a light tread that left his pursuer far behind. 

Naraka's furious yell of frustration echoed off the peaks as Legolas disappeared in the haze of newly falling snow.

^^^^^^^^^^^

The captain was still standing there when his two men caught up to him, and though he appeared calm, Balkhfiren's observation was cautious: "You did not capture him." 

"No." Naraka replied, but there was something in his eyes that seemed to speak of his assurance in his own cleverness.

Mekhor frowned slightly. "Captain, should we not continue to pursue the slave?"

"No," Naraka shook his head. "As you said, there would be no point: he will reach Gilthad — I have no doubt — and we cannot risk the dwarves seeing us." He smiled. "Besides, they'll never trust an elf."

Mekhor nodded in agreement. "What of Lord Furnmorth?"

Naraka did not answer for a moment, then his smile became cold in reply. "We should put the Lord Furnmorth at ease. There is no use in making him worry about a slave who will be unable to make a difference to his plans anyway. He is dead. It is as simple as that."

"Will he believe that?" Balkhfiren asked softly.

"Will he believe it?" Naraka repeated with a short laugh. "Oh, he'll believe it Balkhfiren." Naraka ran his fingers through the long strands of blonde hair still in his hand. "Yes, he will believe it." 

****

TBC…


	13. Death or Despair

****

Hannah (Siri) again!!

WoW!! Thank you everyone for all the delightful feedback. *hugs all* You're so nice :D

*laughs* Everyone reacted to the hair I notice!! ;) Well, you'll be happy to know that, since Naraka only grabbed the 'edges' of his hair, our favorite elf didn't go and shave himself bald to get the nasty-ugly-annoying-freak-of-a-man off him =D However as several people pointed out, having shorter hair is better than being dead ;)

Chloe! You'll have to stop incorporating all these private jokes before somebody thinks we're all crazy!….maybe it's too late for that ;)

Oh and about dwarves trusting elves Infinitys_end *smiles innocently* that's a very interesting point you bring up. It will be interesting to find out won't it :D

Oh my!! *takes refuge behind Sarah* Littlefish has TEETH!! ;) 

Yeah well…Aragorn's in for a…time now isn't he : )

Thank you Emmithar! (though I still disagree : ) Yeah, well Sarah and I pretty much review on the chapters that we wrote. For Instance I wrote most of the last chapter, which is why I'm talking your ear off now =D

Unfortunately Gimli can't show up until years later, but that doesn't mean we won't have many…many *other* dwarves ;)

Yes Ecri, we had a pretty good idea that especially our Legolas fans were *not* going to like us doing things to his hair ;) And as for them wriggling out, where they are right now it's a *little* hard to find good help ;) Too bad for them I guess. :D

Thank you very much Rainydayz! I'm glad you are enjoying it. Please rest assured that we NEVER write slash and never INTEND to write slash either. I too believe it is a pretty hefty contradiction to Tolkein's world.

*laughs* Sure we'll post medellia! 

Umn…quick note before I post: Don't Kill Me Please (heh heh) I'll be going now…

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 13

Death or Despair

Two days. Two very long days Legolas had run over the top of the snow in the Iron Drifts. He still did not dare stop, fearing it could mean his life if he did. He had not felt the presence of any living being about him for some time, but he did not dare to hope that Naraka had given up the chase. The elf was still very shaken by his near capture at the mouth of the drifts.

Legolas knew from previous study exactly where he could find Gilthad: it was one of the few mountains that rose above the others, piercing the sky and biting down on the air with cold stone teeth, and when he saw it he put on an extra burst of speed. He was nearly there.

The ground ended up ahead — this he could tell by the change in air currents, and the sudden downward slope of the earth beneath him — but he could not gauge how far down the drop off went. He was given a stunning shock, then, when he slid off the edge expecting to catch himself shortly below, and instead came crashing down nearly twenty feet. This would not have been a problem had he been expecting it, but he was not, and instead he fell, quite unceremoniously, to the ground below, his legs crumpling beneath him and letting him drop in exhaustion to the ground. His jarred body throbbed mercilessly and for a moment he lay there, trying to regain his breath. This would be a fine state for Naraka to catch him in, and with Gilthad not forty paces away, he could not risk it. Rising to his knees he prepared to close the distance between himself and the looming mountain. 

"Don't make one move elf, if you value your pretty head." 

Legolas heard the voice but he was more concerned about the cold metal he felt pressed against the back of his neck. "Get up!" The gruff voice snapped, jabbing the axe hard against the elf's neck. Legolas could have kicked himself for being so careless. Of *course* there would be dwarven sentries posted looking for trouble...and they'd found him. 

Biting back frustration, Legolas obeyed and held perfectly still. He saw another dwarf appear in front of him and flinched as the stout miner gave him a passing kick in the still healing leg. The only difference Legolas could see between the two sentries was that the newcomer had a bow as well as an axe, and though he was mildly surprised, since dwarves seldom used such weapons, he assumed that amongst mountains such as these, it was likely that archers were needed for hunting.

"What you got here, Moín?" The dwarf asked, looking suspiciously at Legolas. 

"An elf snooping around. Came charging over the cliff bank not five seconds ago." Moín replied, a note of glee in his harsh voice. Legolas doubted that if he told them he was actually *fleeing* over the cliff it would make any difference, so he remained silent.

"What you going to do with him?" The other dwarf asked, drawing his own axe.

"Kill him of course." Moín replied simply.

"Wait," Legolas broke in smoothly, "I have come to speak with your lord."

Legolas could not see Moín but he heard the dwarf snort skeptically. "Absolutely elf, we're going to let you speak to Lord Dorm. No difficulty whatsoever." 

The elf prince tried to think of something to do. He had Naraka's blade still tucked in his belt, but he was hesitant to use it on these dwarves when he wanted them to trust him. "I must speak with Lord Dorm." Legolas tried not to plead with the diminutive imbeciles as he suddenly wished that Aragorn was with him. The ranger had the uncommon ability to converse with anyone and make even the most insufferable fool see reason. "I must warn him of your danger."

"Our danger eh?" The dwarf before him chuckled at that. "Ah yes, we're being invaded by foolish little elves, that's dangerous, that is."

Legolas' patience was wearing thin, he wanted to avoid using his knife, but he was running out of options.

"If you do not let me see Lord Dorm then a great peril will fall upon you unawares and all your rich halls will be taken by the enemy!" Legolas snapped vehemently hoping to get through to them. "And wouldn't your lord appreciate that?"

Moín snorted again and jabbed his axe harder against the back of Legolas' neck, but the other looked uncertain.

"Moín," he frowned, "perhaps we should just let him speak to the Lord — he may not mean harm."

"Forget it Nowin." Moín snapped. 

"We should at least tell Bonfur." Nowin reasoned. "He will want to know."

"We *cannot* tell Bonfur." Moín instantly refused. "You know what he did last time we had a spy here."

"Perhaps, but we are under his watch," Nowin argued.

"That doesn't matter!" Moín exclaimed angrily.

"Oh doesn't it?" A new voice came. Legolas tried to see the latest dwarf, but he had walked up behind them. "What is this Moín: rebellion?"

"No Bonfur, sir, but I found this spy lurking around trying to assassinate Lord Dorm."

"I mean nothing of the kind—" Legolas began, but was cut off as Bonfur kicked him.

"Quiet you!" The dwarf moved around in front of Legolas and looked him up and down.

"Should I kill him sir?" Moín asked eagerly. Bonfur reached out one strong hand, calloused by rock work, and gripped Legolas' chin, tilting the elf's head up and looking into his blue-gray eyes. A look of pure disgust crossed his face and he released Legolas' chin.

"I have no love for elves, you know that. But would an elf come blundering into our fortress with the purpose of killing our lord and be fool enough to be caught by you, Moín?" Moín caught the barb and glowered at his watch leader. "No, I think Dorm should see this one. After all, maybe we can question him later: get some answers out of him." Bonfur gestured to the two dwarves. "Take him to Lord Dorm's meeting room and be quick about it."

Snarling something about pompous leaders depriving him of his rightful pleasures, Moín started to obey the elder dwarf. Legolas was relieved beyond words — for a moment he had feared that his life, as well as the lives of many others, would end right there, at the hands of a dwarf such as Moín. The two grabbed him up roughly by the arms and jerked him forward hard, but Legolas yielded to them and did not react when Bonfur took the dagger from him. The dwarf examined it with a frown.

"It's of orcish make," he observed. "Where would an elf pick up such a thing?"

"He's been mixing with them orcs." Moín replied instantly, obviously hoping he would still get to execute the prisoner.

"Right," Nowin smirked, "an elf mixing with orcs. That's right near amusing, Moín."

"Quiet!" Bonfur growled the order, then sheathed the knife. "This will be another thing you'll have to explain to Lord Dorm, *elf*." He emphasized the word with a kick to Legolas' side. "Now get up and get moving before I let Moín have you!"

^^^^^^^^^^^

Aragorn finished off with the last of with the final scimitar he'd been working with. Not three minutes ago every other slave had been taken to the slave chambers, but Aragorn had been told to finish up the last few scimitars himself. Now the guards were retrieving the next shift and Aragorn was virtually alone, but that did not make the foundry any less noisy. The guards milled everywhere and the hot fire crackled and sputtered; distantly he could hear the growls of the orcs and he shuddered involuntarily. 

The thing that made him most concerned, though, was the presence of Furnmorth. The lord was, at the moment, examining the most recently produced weaponry, and since he didn't often show himself to the slaves, paying a visit to his foundries in between shifts was common enough. But it was also unnerving. Concentrating on his work, Aragorn attempted to block out the lord's presence, when abruptly he realized that Furnmorth had halted not twenty paces in front of his station. Carefully he looked up, wondering what he had done to draw attention to himself — however, Furnmorth was not looking at him, but past him.

"Ah Captain," the lord greeted as Naraka approached him. Aragorn felt his heart lurch suddenly. Naraka looked very...pleased. 

The captain strode proudly over to his overlord, giving a short bow, as Aragorn leaned past his anvil to see what — Then he felt his breath stop altogether. Naraka murmured quietly to Furnmorth then pulled something from his belt, but Aragorn had all ready seen it.

A raggedly cut handful of gold hair.

Aragorn let out a quick gulping breath and moved forward, hesitation in his every step. This could not be… He was but ten paces away and heard Lord Furnmorth's words clearly.

"He is dead then?" 

"He is dead." Naraka confirmed, condemning Aragorn's heart to sudden death. "He nearly reached the Iron Drifts; had he made it there he would have been safe, but I caught him just before and cut him down." He fingered the soft strands and smiled, as if over fond memories. "Fool of an elf — he was so intent on escaping." The captain firmly tied the hair to his belt and it hung there, drifting slightly in the warm air-currents, pale and clean as winter sunlight; contrasting sharply with the dark garb of the murderer who now held it. 

Aragorn felt his heart crumble, freezing the tears in his eyes as he stood stock still in the very center of the floor. Furnmorth turned, as if noticing the slave's presence for the first time, and raised a delicate eyebrow.

"Back to your work, slave." He said firmly. Aragorn didn't move, he *couldn't* move. The words kept repeating themselves and his head, telling him to believe it.

*Legolas is dead, Legolas is dead, Legolas is dead...*

//No! It cannot be!//

"Back to work slave!" Naraka snapped, kicking Aragorn hard in the legs. The young ranger fell to the floor, not even trying to resist the impact, he curled in on himself slightly as his breath left him. Naraka moved over and grabbed the ranger firmly by the collar of the tunic, jerking him hard to his feet. "I said: get to work." His tone was low and menacing. Aragorn lifted his eyes to the captain, to the man's cold eyes, and the sneer still plain on his face. This man had destroyed the last hope for Gilthad and Mirkwood — had extinguished an immortal life — had murdered his friend. 

Pain was born without shame in the ranger's clear blue eyes and he jerked away from the man, loathing his very touch. Naraka cracked his hand harshly across Aragorn's face in response, knocking him to the ground.

"This one is still trouble!" Naraka snapped angrily.

"Indeed," Furnmorth nodded. With barely concealed annoyance, the lord moved over to the young man lying on the ground. A dark bruise was beginning to form on Aragorn's cheek, but he didn't notice — his eyes were shut and he did not move. "Get up." Furnmorth ordered calmly, not betraying his anger.

Aragorn didn't answer or move.

"Very well," Furnmorth said after another moment. "Take him to the slave chambers." Naraka jerked the young human to his feet. "And I would suggest that you try to get as much rest as you can, slave," the man fixed his dark eyes on Aragorn's, "because for the next six days you will be refused sleep or rest of any kind." He motioned to Naraka and the captain began to drag Aragorn away. 

The ranger didn't care. The world was falling apart around his head. He had lost so much and he was so alone. He was completely numb to the harsh jostling and jerking from Naraka as the man pulled him to the slave chambers. With a firm shove, he threw Aragorn to the floor of the cave.

Aragorn let out a gasp of breath as he hit the ground. For a long time he just lay there, on the cold stone, clenching his fists as the shock of the moment began to wear off. Carefully he sat up against the rock wall and looked numbly around him. All the slaves were asleep, none stirred, he was alone...so alone. And with this realization came an ultimate breaking point. Drawing his knees up to his chest Aragorn pressed his forehead against his folded arms and let the burning tears sear his cheeks. His heart was broken and his loneliness total. 

Legolas had died. 

Aragorn was falling into despair.

For moments or days he sat there in pain, missing his friend desperately and longing only to leave this place of fear and dread. But he knew there was no chance for that now, so he let himself go. What worth was there in anything anymore? //Just give it up…//

Suddenly a voice broke into his mind.

*"Stop worrying and sleep, Strider. We will find the answer, we cannot give in...not now."*

Legolas' words had been spoken with such certainty, but how could he not give in? He had nothing left to live for in this place.

He almost smiled when he thought of what Legolas would have said to that. 

*"So very like a human: ready to give up just when things start to get hard."*

"I just can't keep trying Legolas." Aragorn whispered. But then, quite abruptly, his mind was filled with images of Mirkwood, of the forests of trees, of the grand halls of King Thranduil, of Raniean, Trelan, Silinde, Meldir and so many other elves he had come to know since he had met Legolas. Could he truly let their beautiful world fail simply because he would do it alone? Legolas had risked his life in this to save his home...Aragorn could do no less. Letting out a tired breath, the ranger leaned back against the hard wall. "Yes," He whispered. "I will do it for Mirkwood, Legolas... I will do it for you."

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas tried hard not to panic as he was dragged into the chambers of Dorm, son of Damrod. He knew that he'd have a very slim chance of convincing the lord of Gilthad of his danger without evidence to support his words, but he'd have to try.

He was forced to his knees when they entered the chamber, which would have been embarrassing even for a man, and for an elf was quite nearly unbearable. However Legolas swallowed his pride as best he could and settled his eyes on the dwarf lord slightly above him. Dorm didn't look like much that Legolas could see — he looked like all dwarves, with a thick and scraggly beard of an earth toned brown, and beady eyes that studied the prince from behind bushy eye brows. For a moment Dorm said nothing as Bonfur explained the situation. When the sentry had finished explaining all he knew for certain he added, as though he'd be working up to this statement all along. "Indeed, he is likely some sort of trouble, Master Dorm. I would suggest he be questioned until we get the truth of him." 

Dorm glanced down at Legolas, and the elf did not move his eyes from the dwarf's face. "What do you have to say in your defense, elf?" He demanded. 

Legolas, finally allowed to speak, lifted his head and let the words carry around the chamber. "My Lord Dorm," he began, suffering himself to use the dwarf's title so as not to stir him up, "I have come to warn you of a great danger that threatens your halls of stone. At this moment a man, Furnmorth, is amassing a great army, outfitting them with armor and weapons so as to march on your mountain. They intend to tunnel beneath you and come upon you unawares and unprepared."

As Legolas had feared, Dorm didn't react to the news. "Is that so?" His voice was unbelieving. "And why would an *elf* have any interest in what happens to our mountain?"

Legolas didn't want to specifically mention Mirkwood's own peril if he could possibly help it, for fear that the dwarves would use that against him. "Surely my lord can see that if your mountain is taken, than so will be all the Grey Mountains. Middle Earth would stand no chance against an army of the magnitude Furnmorth could muster, if he had control of the northlands in such a way."

Dorm snorted irritably, "Indeed, elf, you try my intelligence. I understand perfectly. But there are no others in these places that would threaten us, and I see no army anywhere near."

"They are lodged in Mount Gundabad at this very moment—"

Legolas was cut off by a round of laughter from the dwarves. "Mount Gundabad, eh?" Moín sniggered. "Everyone knows that that mountain has not been occupied since the dwarves of my ancestry drove the orcs from it centuries ago!"

"It is again!" Legolas argued, raising his voice. "And if you do not act quickly an orc army will come upon you in no more than five days hence."

"Master Elf you speak madness," Dorm shook his head. "This army you speak of — if indeed they were lodged there once again, we would have seen signs of it."

"He hides himself well, my lord." Legolas' eyes were earnest as he looked up at the dwarf lord. "Please, you must believe this."

"And what evidence do you have of your words' truth?" Dorm demanded, leaning forward. "I will not be so humiliated as to be sent on a pointless venture by an ignorant elf." 

Legolas grit his teeth against the barb. "I would not have you so, Master Dorm, I only wish you to consider that which I say. I have proof with me even now, for I carry an orc-made dagger stolen from one of their human captains."

"Orcs with human captains!" Nowin guffawed loudly. Legolas flinched as the dwarf cuffed him across the face in what may have been meant as a light gesture, but stung like a heavy blow on the elf's bruised and wind burned cheeks. The dwarf didn't seem to notice. "No orcs would listen to a human anymore than they would listen to an elf."

"Master Dorm," Legolas tried again as the lord examined Naraka's orc-made dagger which Bonfur had handed to him. "You must believe me. Your halls may depend on it, as well as many other lands in Middle Earth."

Dorm didn't reply for a long moment, and Legolas tried to read the signs behind his black eyes, but what he saw there did not give him hope. "I will not consent to be borne on the foolish assumptions of an elf — indeed, I believe you are skirting the truth to save your own neck! You have no information here that is needed to me, and likely no such information will be found." Legolas' shoulders slumped: he knew he had failed. Dorm turned to Moín and Nowin. "Take him to the dungeons — unless I can think of another use for such a miserable creature, he can rot there. I have much to do." Legolas stiffened as he was jerked to his feet. The prince tried to think of something to do, anything to recover the situation. But these were stiff necked dwarves, as were all, and they would not hear reason.

Moín and Nowin had nearly reached the door with their charge when suddenly a shorter and surprisingly lithe dwarf came barreling past them, running towards the throne of Lord Dorm.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Dorm roared. 

The small dwarf bobbed an apology which also doubled as a greeting. "My Lord," He practically squeaked, "Glor says there is something you must come and see!"

****

TBC…


	14. The Error of Lord Furnmorth

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*sneaks in* Heheh… Umn, Hannah/Siri still here : ) I'm sure you're getting thoroughly sick of seeing me but Sarah will be here soon : )

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback *glows* Even if it was a little less than enthusiastic for our…creative chapter ending…hmm… Anyway, we really appreciate it :D

Yes *sigh* Men are cruel…these ones in particular though. (Nasty, mean, hateful etc.)

*flinches* Okay…Jasta didn't like our chapter ending ;) But I'm glad you're still enjoying it despite the umn…slightly bad stopping point =D

Heehee! Thanx Cassia, I'm afraid we excel at writing 'short blockheads' Though I can't say it's come up too much before ;)

Thank you Carrie!! We really appreciate that :D And glad you're enjoying it!!…I think you're enjoying it ;) j/k

*puts up her hand at Lina's glare* Sorry! It wasn't our fault blame Naraka and his cronies… *lowers voice* Or Cassia… *laughs nervously* Just kidding Cassia! ;)

Yes Chloe, I rather thought you'd like that bit of it ;) I'm glad you're still enjoying our story :D

Yeah Littlefish, that is a quote actually! And LOL! =D That line came up during the whole scene in Fellowship when a certain dwarf and elf (who shall remained nameless) were getting into a regular row about who had wear blindfolds into Lothlorien and who didn't :D I think it was the 'nameless' elf who said it, but I can't remember for sure. 

*laughs nervously again* Heheh, nice teeth Littlefish! And as for Gimli talking Legolas into a cave that is EXACTLY what we thought when Cassia and Sio started this whole 'Legolas hates caves' trend!! Amazing! ;) LOL on your last line!! If that doesn't explain it all!! =)

SpaceVixenX, oooh ow! You okay?? Yes, well, they may have dangled that in front of him a little longer except that I think Furnmorth couldn't be bothered and Naraka wasn't in authority at the moment sooo…I guess Aragorn lucked out in a sense : )

Oh! I'm sorry Iverson! Well this was a very nice review : )

Thanks for deciding not to kill us by the way, though I can't say the same for all the bad guys. ;) 

And yes, thank you, we are glad you like it!! : ) ONTO THE NEXT POST!! ;)

(((By the way, sorry for all the emoticons, I get a little carried away I'm afraid ;) :D : ) =D )))

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 14

The Error of Lord Furnmorth

"Report, Captain." Furnmorth commanded quietly, not looking up from desk.

Naraka bowed, his face contorted into an expression that for him generally meant pleasure, "My lord, the last messenger has arrived from the tunnel's end and has informed me that the tunnel should be branched and completed in four days time. If we remove all the weapons from the armory, we should be equipped enough to outfit the whole army and begin our march by tomorrow, midday, at the latest."

Putting a final stroke on some document or other, Furnmorth deliberately sealed it as he nodded, "That is good, Captain. However, emptying the armory, while it may gain you an extra day, will also leave the garrison still quartered here with minimal weaponry. Have you thought of that?"

Naraka nodded, pressing down the slight feeling of nervousness that occasionally assailed him when talking this way to his lord, "Yes sir, I have. If you retain the slaves to work the foundries for a little longer, you should have the armory adequately refilled in a day or two."

Furnmorth smiled thinly, "Excellent. Continue with your plan, Captain. You will leave at exactly tomorrow midday, unless I contact you with contrary orders."

Naraka bowed again, "Yes sir."

"And Captain."

"Yes sir?"

Dark green eyes seemed slice through the semi-darkness, "May victory surround you when next we meet."

^^^^^^^^^^^

Aragorn tugged at the coal release, not caring when the rope burned in his hand, nor noticing really when the round, rough black lumps tumbled down from their tower, several falling accidentally into the cooling pools. He had been alone in the massive room all day, but it was only now, in the late morning, that the other slaves had gone and were truly no longer working around him in body either. He couldn't remember when they'd gone, or why, but Agarwaen had ordered him to work on, and work was better than stillness. Especially when there was nothing else he could do.

//I'm sorry, Legolas. It is impossible,// he thought bleakly, returning to his anvil and going back to work on something new. Knives, perhaps, or a helmet. He had wracked his mind for any possible way of fulfilling his pledge to protect Legolas' home, but no answers had been forthcoming, and his mind was settling into a mire of weariness and grief. He could no longer think, and did not desire to make a fresh effort, for fear some new memories of his friend might surface to pain him further. In his one night of sleep he had dreamt of the elf so vividly, that he could scarce discern when the dream ended and the reality began. Except for the vacant place beside him in the slave chambers, and the echo of emptiness in his heart.

Since then he had been forced to labor at the anvil, and never once been left unguarded. Even now, one of the dark-clad men stood in the cavern entrance, his eyes watching the slave keenly so that he could not even secret a knife amongst his thin garments. It was truly hopeless. //I'm so sorry.//

"I have decided to allow you to complete the work on your own." A chill voice announced calmly.

Aragorn looked up dully, his eyes just focusing on the figure of the guard — no, Lord Furnmorth was there now instead — before he turned back to his work. Desperately, he wanted to hate this man, but whether he would or no, the words kept washing through his head like a river, unstoppable, "Peace, my friend. Anger will not benefit you." He could not do it. Too much time had he spent striving for the friendship of others to have any will left for bitter hatred, and too clearly the memories of Legolas and the lessons of his father rested in his mind to allow any argument. He said nothing.

"Did you not hear me, slave?" Furnmorth was suddenly standing next to him, though Aragorn had not heard him approach.

"I heard." Aragorn murmured, almost lower than the imposing lord could hear.

"And?" The word was smooth and menacing.

Finally raising his head from the task in front of him, his blue eyes turned midnight with desolation, Aragorn did not even change the tone of his voice. "I care not."

"What?" Furnmorth's voice was full of disbelief. "I am lord here, I control your life and your death, your work and your rest. You understand this?"

The slave lifted his completed dagger and thrust it into the water at his feet, turning his back completely to the lord as he laid it aside, and answered quietly, his weariness and acceptance of his own fate making him suddenly bold, "Yes, I understand. I understand that you have tormented the innocent, and slain the weak. I understand that you desire that which is not your own, and will plot and sell both honor and soul to obtain it. I understand that you have murdered that which is fair beyond your pitiful comprehension." Ice sharpened out of the ranger's dark gaze as he turned round once more, "You may control the physical, but as a tree infested with worms will eventually fall, you too shall tumble to earth, for rottenness has penetrated your very core. And you will never control *me*, 'Lord' Furnmorth." His voice sank into a whisper, "Any more than you ever controlled Legolas."

Furnmorth stood in silent, but fascinated horror as the man in front of him — filthy, underfed, and tired — seemed yet to grow until he was much taller than his cruel master. Suddenly there was fire in his eyes, defiance in his very stance, and it seemed almost as if a light flashed from around him, lighting the furthest corners of the cavern. The lord cringed back, wondering faintly who it was he now faced, and feeling an unfamiliar sensation tug at him: fear.

Then the ranger seemed to shrink once more; his shoulders slumped, his eyes dropped, and he turned once more to his tasks. The truth had been spoken plainly, for all the stones to hear, and there was no more to be said.

Breathing in a low, sibilant, hiss, Furnmorth watched the slave as a hawk watches it's prey and finally recognized the truth: there was only one way to subdue this troublesome one. Just one way… Catching up the weapon closest to hand, the lord stepped calmly forward, sure of his aim and his control, and bore the dagger downward, straight towards the slave's exposed back.

Naught but a whisper marked the knife's passage through the warm air, but Aragorn's hearing, sharpened by years amongst the elves, caught it clearly. Reflexively, he rolled to the side, over the pile of coal and away from the steel blade, his arms rising protectively to cover his face. 

Furious at his mistake, Furnmorth leapt without consideration, the dagger glittering brightly in the red light of the fires.

The man who had meticulously planned every step of his army's advance…

The man who had continually reevaluated his strategy after each setback and before each countermove…

The man who had prided himself from childhood on his keen mind, strict self-control and ultimate perfection…

Finally, in a moment of inner rage, he had made one error. And it was a fatal one.

There was a sharp report as the keen blade sliced through the dried rope on the coal tower and the door tumbled down, followed by a seeming wall of black fuel. Without a cry, or even an expression, the lord was slammed backwards, directly over the low wall and into the cooling pool behind him.

Aragorn slowly rose as the coal continued to tumble forth; there was no way to prevent it's fall now that the avalanche had begun. For a short while, the cavern was full of rattling echoes, bouncing and rebounding from the forges, and the armor piles, and the walls. Then silence fell, and with a few last tumbling clatters, the tower was silenced. Stepping to the edge of the pool, Aragorn could not even make out a hand beneath the great load and the clear waters, still rippling from the disturbance.

Furnmorth, Lord of Mount Gundabad, was dead: buried fittingly beneath a mound of jet black.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Clasping his specially made chain mail on over his leather tunic, and buckling his belt over top of it, his long sword shining in it's sheath, Naraka placed his helmet firmly on his head and turned to survey his army. In the light of the torches, the orcs were a fearsome group to behold, in spite of their small stature. And it was their quick agility that would be the undoing of the dwarves. Smiling slowly, and giving one last glance to make sure no messenger from his lord waited to inform him of some change in plans, he turned to Balkhfiren and nodded, "Lieutenant, order them to march."

The soldier turned, relaying the order on across the room and then following the captain as he started down the long, dark tunnel. Four days and they would reach Gilthad. Just four days. 

Victory was in the very air, and Naraka laughed at the intoxicating scent of it as the foul army began to trail him at a run.

^^^^^^^^^^^

//How long have I been standing here?// Aragorn wondered suddenly, pulling his head up and looking across the cavern. It took several moments before he realized that an opportunity had at last been granted him: he was alone in the foundry with not a single man to guard him.

Almost stumbling in his haste, Aragorn retrieved one of the newly forged daggers and started towards the entrance, determination filling him. With Furnmorth now dead, the army might be thrown into confusion and never even leave the mountain at all! But a sudden rumbling that seemed to vibrate the very stones told him the unfortunate truth: Naraka had already set out.

Slowly the ranger's face hardened into a grim determination. He had made a promise to Legolas that, even if he were alone, he would warn the dwarves. If he could not keep that promise, then at least he could aid them in their fight. Turning aside, he lifted one of the breastplates from the pile and fastened it on; it was a little small, but no one would notice, especially not if he were to wear a cloak over it. A helmet he also retrieved, and a sword to go with his dagger. Finally, when he knew he could do no more to hide his appearance, he strode confidently into the passage and started upwards towards Lord Furnmorth's chambers. He could be sure of getting a cloak there, and he needed to cover his face as soon as possible.

Half way there, he came up behind two of the human guards who were obviously on their way off duty and was forced to wait a ways behind them to avoid notice. They were slow as they wandered towards their barracks, discussing various unimportant things in a casual manner. Aragorn began to chafe at the delay, started at each echo from behind him: worried that a third guard might discover him and see through his hasty disguise. Then a turn in the conversation made him pay closer attention to what the two men were saying.

"If you ask me, I prefer to stay right here. Those dwarves aren't likely to be as soft as Naraka supposes, though of course I wouldn't say such things to him."

The other guard snorted at his companion's admission, "Not to his face, anyway. Come, though, I need some sleep, and there is much work to be done on the morrow."

"Aye," the first agreed, "how long are we to keep the slaves?"

"Only until evening. Lord Furnmorth does not wish to risk an uprising while so few of us remain, and he can easily replace them with dwarves when Gilthad is taken."

"Where is the lord?"

The second guard shrugged, "He said he had much to do when last he spoke with us, and we might not see him for several days at least. He has some strange ways, but I assure you, Umbath, that…"

Aragorn heard no more, for he had stopped dead in the tunnel and the two men had now passed out of hearing range. Chill sweat collected beneath his armor at the sudden obstacle in his plans. //Replace them with dwarves?// That could only mean that Furnmorth had not intended to leave the slaves alive at all, but rather to affect a second massacre once his use for them had ended. With the men assuming his absence was natural, it would go on as planned. That is, if no one were to stop it.

But Aragorn had promised.

For a moment longer he stood, torn, seeing in his mind the faces of Thranduil, and Kelegalen, Ranien and Nethtalt, floating side by side. Then his head snapped up and he advanced once again at a brisk run, his course decided.

****

TBC…


	15. Plans Set Into Motion

****

Sarah is back at last!! And man alive has she enjoyed this feedback… ; )

Starfleet Hobbit: Wow, you're keeping track? : )

e: I'm so glad you liked it! I was rather afraid initially that it might have been too abrupt. And nice sum-up, by the way! Are you sure you haven't been snooping inside of my head? ; )

SpaceVixen: *quirks eyebrow* Nice dance. I'm glad you approve! : )

Emmithar: *blankly* Legolas? Who's Legolas? Oh yeah, you mean the elf guy? Well, we'll get to him.

Cheysuli: I mean, evil-scary-thing-that-used-to-be-Cheysuli, here is your post. *smiles nervously*

Enigma: 'Smart ones die early'; well, for Furnmorth that's sure true!

Halo: Funny, your post made me think of all those little munchkins in Wizard of Oz singing 'ding dong the mean old witch is dead'… ; P

Dishwater: Thanks! : )

Lina: LOL! Don't worry, don't worry, he'll find out… eventually. Until then, try not to smother him, eh? ; )

Rainy: I'm already cold! My toes are going numb as I write this. ; )

LittleFish: You're about to find out whether or not your guess is correct! Yeah, I don't like Naraka either, and I helped create him. What does *that* tell ya? Anyway, I'm glad we got you so glued, and even managed to shock you a little. *bright smile* That's what we live for, you know!

saber crazy: *mock scolding* What are you doing to our tension?!

Greenleaf: Don't die yet. ; )

*whew* There's getting to be a lot of you! Onto the post…

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 15

Plans Set Into Motion

No one paid any heed to the tallish figure wrapped in the usual dark cloak of the guards as he walked towards the orc chambers. Only a few even saw him, and they were too preoccupied to notice that his cape was actually of the finer material, worn only by the Lord Furnmorth.

Keeping his hood down, Aragorn slipped down the all too familiar passage, and paused, his heart racing in spite of his efforts to be calm. The chamber in front of him was dark, but he remembered it well. The smell still clung tenaciously to the walls, and as he forced himself to enter, he cringed at the crunching of bones beneath his feet. Most belonged to mountain goats, and other native animals, but that did not ease his revulsion.

Reaching his hand to the wall to guide him, he traced his way gradually to the one sliver of dim light in the whole expanse of blackness. Stooping down, he slid something flat gently through the gap in the wall.

"Namárië," the Dúnadan whispered softly, falling into the gray tongue as Legolas had so often done. Moving swiftly, he left the room once more and turned towards the tunnel entrance one level down, adjusting his disguise as he went.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Kelegalen shifted in the half-light cast by the torches at the entrance. Beside him Nethtalt had fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted by the day's work and looking even younger than his actual years, but the man of Rohan was unable to sleep. Strider had not been permitted to return, of course, now that he was being punished yet again, but all the same, Kelegalen found himself watching for the ranger. Someone had to talk to him and soon. If left to himself any longer, he might yet perish from his own despair, or else turn hard as Helkhmorn had done. It was a grievous thing that the elf had been slain, and burdened Kelegalen's heart even now, but Strider could not be allowed to further advance the evils of Naraka's actions by adding to them his own death.

Promising himself firmly that, whether the other listened or no, he would corner the ranger the next day, Kelegalen readjusted his position — and paused. A faint whisper of sound caught his ear and he leaned forward once more to see something flat protruding from the vent that led to the orc chambers beyond the wall. Frowning and sliding quietly forward, he withdrew the object to discover that it was a letter, with his name written carefully across the front.

Breaking the wax seal, Kelegalen eased closer to the entrance to catch as much light as he could and quickly read the contents.

Kelegalen,

I have made a choice, and I hope it will not ill affect you, or any of the others. I have learned that the slaves are to be destroyed within this coming day, and if you wish to live, you must act as soon as may be. Furnmorth is now dead, there are few guards in Gundabad at present, and thus your task should not prove too difficult if you make use of the weapons that they are forcing you to manufacture. However, I shall not be there. I gave my word to Legolas that I would protect his home, whatever the cost, and the time for me to prove my word has come. I cannot lie disheartened and idle any longer.

Please do not forget, as I nearly did, that Helkhmorn was wrong. Death may be my final lot, but despair is never binding unless you give it power over you.

I thank you for your friendship, and your aid, both to myself, and to my friend. May you one day return to the lands whence you came.

Strider

Refolding the letter, Kelegalen gazed at it in wonder: both because of the contents, and because of the parchment. It was Lord Furnmorth's own paper and ink that had been used, and his own seal that graced the back. Smiling silently to himself at the irony, he settled into the shadows; tomorrow was to be a harder day than he had supposed.

//Go swiftly, Strider, and may you find peace at your journey's end.//

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas was nearly stumbling with weariness, but hid it as best he could as Bonfur and Moín dragged him once more above ground and followed Dorm out into the hills around their mountain. Taking a route that avoided the elf's cliff, they were still in easy sight of Gilthad when the messenger, a dwarf named Frói, finally brought them to a halt. A little ways below them a handful of dwarves had clearly been busy measuring something, and there were wooden markers driven and lengths of cord stretched in a rough rectangle.

One of the dwarves came forward and bowed as they approached, answering to the name of Glor when his lord addressed him. Stepping carefully over the taut cords, Dorm's group paused in the center, looking around the large flat space and listening to Glor's explanation of what he had discovered.

"I was searching for a likely spot to sink a new vent shaft, but I wandered to far and found something disturbing on my way back. The watch helped me mark it out, and then we sent Frói to get you. If you look careful, my lord, you'll see what I mean." Glor gestured to the middle of the rectangle, and then to either side of it, his long, black beard twisting about his head in the sharp wind. 

Legolas glanced down to find three cracks in the rock, evenly spaced, only about a finger's width across each, but nearly an arm's length long, and all dropping down and completely out of sight. He blinked, their meaning completely lost on him, but from the look on Dorm's face, and the faces of the other dwarves about him, there was clearly more to it than could be understood by an elf.

"Shoring spikes." Dorm muttered, his large, calloused fingers brushing the snow-dusted stone and a frown creasing his forehead deeply. "For a tunnel. How far and how wide?"

Glor shrugged, "Can't say for sure, but I'd guess near half a league straight down, and wide enough for ten or more to walk abreast. Large, certainly, but pretty poor work, if it cracked this far up, even allowing that it's cold. It appears to me we might have someone trying to thieve a little off our profits without us knowing."

Fró i nodded vigorously, "Aye. Ó en found more cracks a quarter league off, and then a quarter again, for a full three leagues west in a straight line, before he returned."

"Did he reach the end?" Dorm asked, moving to examine the other cracks.

"No, my lord," Frói shook his head, "it went too far."

"Must be some of those woodsmen." Glor nodded sagely, glaring when Bonfur snorted. Dorm, however, wasn't listening any more, his narrowed eyes fixed on the bound elf standing behind him. Legolas returned the gaze easily, his superior age giving him all the edge he needed to stare the dwarf lord down.

Turning away, Dorm asked abruptly, "Can we collapse it?"

Glor nodded, "Aye, but so far deep it will take some doing. Likely to take at least three days if you don't want them digging through again."

For a moment, there was silence. Then finally, Dorm rose and brushed the snow from his clothing, nodding to Glor, "Get started. Collect anyone you need from the mountain. Frói, return to your post, and you, Thúril," this to a gray-haired dwarf, "come with me." Making his way swiftly back to the mountain, Dorm sent messengers before him to retrieve several more dwarves and jerked his head at Moín and Bonfur, "Bring the elf."

Three dwarves, including Nowin, were waiting when they returned to the throne room, and Dorm did not spend extra time on explaining his actions, "Nori, go to the northwest store room and search for any sign of disturbance, or echoes that might mean a second tunnel beyond our walls. Nowin: the southwest store room, Frerin: the west smelting chamber, and Thúril: the west guard room. You will report back to me when you are through."

Bowing, the four dwarves left obediently, without questioning their orders, and soon the room was silent once more. Dorm remained sitting in his chair, the weight of responsibility holding him down, and contemplated the floor as a thousand and one thoughts flashed rapidly through his mind. Eventually he raised his eyes to the two remaining dwarves and the elf between them. "Bonfur, tell Funmar his watch will be replacing yours, then bring me Roden from the armory. I will need you both. And Moín," the dwarf looked up at his name, a worried expression on his face, as if he guessed what the order would be, "cut the elf loose."

Moín glowered blackly at Legolas, but did as he was ordered, stepping back as the elf straightened. Legolas did not bother to bow, but Dorm seemed not to notice, so distracted was he with his own plans. Giving a brief nod at the elf, he said gruffly, "I suppose you should go sleep, or something."

Without a second look, Legolas turned and left the room, wending his way back towards the fortress entrance and finding an abandoned corner in a half-crumbled guard room. Settling down, his breath sighing out of him with faint satisfaction, and his eyes actually closing with exhaustion, he fell into a deep sleep and did not move at all for several hours.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Jostling, cursing, lunging — the dark mass surged through the tunnels like a foul stream, blackening the walls in passing and pounding away at the rough ground with iron shod feet. Here order was no more needed than obeyed, for running was all that was required of them; ceaseless running, and at the end, as reward, blood and battle. Snarling with lust, their gruesome faces barely visible in the light from the occasional torch bearers, the orcs continued on single-mindedly, noticing neither the weight of their armor, nor their companions, unless it was to bite and kick at them. Aragorn, for his part, stayed out of the way of both.

Lack of sleep was beginning to wear on the ranger heavily, and though he had eaten and gathered extra food before leaving, his body did not have the strength it needed to match the pace. Still, he forced himself on, shutting out both the noise and weariness, sparing no thought for the end of the tunnel, and no anxiety for his present condition, unless it were to avoid yet another armor-clad brute, seeking to trample him in passing.

Not only would he still be standing at the end, he promised himself, but he would be nearer the front as well, leaving at least a little time, he hoped, to warn the dwarves before the full flood broke upon him. With that last thought, he turned his mind back to the present and continued on, merely one more soldier, indistinguishable amongst all the others. Running.

****

TBC…


	16. Battle Preparations

****

Sarah here! And my goodness, calm down everyone. Did you see character death listed in the rating? No? Well there you have it. *catches muttering about near-death and bad injuries* Yes, um… responses! Yes.

Starfleet Hobbit: Glad it meets with your approval!

Freakizimi: Thanks! Most of our original planning session was devoted to a lot of "How about ___?" "No, Suchandsuch already did ___. Maybe ___?" "Uh-uh, Tolkien himself did that in Two Towers." "Oh yeah." So I'm glad you like what we came up with!

Princess Leia: Crush. Crush Aragorn. Well, to retain perfect honesty, I must tell you that we *did* consider it quite seriously. I just can't tell you what we decided just now. *dodges flying Legolas plushie*

Infinity: S'okay, just post when you have time! And I'm glad we were able to set your mind at rest about the slaves! Maybe that will make up for our next trick. *smiles innocently*

Cheysuli: You're making me nervous; could you maybe not do that *on* the thread?? And I don't think there's any chance of Aragorn drifting off in a tunnel full of orcs. Those sorts of things tend to induce adrenaline… ; )

Iverson: You like our tension? I'm glad to hear it! But please don't have a fit…

Jay of Lasgalen: Okay, I won't tell you if he's in front. And Nori *was* the name of one of Thorin's companions, but our Nori is not him. Since Tolkien didn't mind duplicating some of his names (he had two completely different Ori's) we figured it was okay to nab a few for our own use! : )

e: Oooh, money! Of course, I'd have to change my disclaimer ('I'm not getting paid for this', etc.)… *sigh* And you keep coming up with cool things I wish I had added! I wish I could have exploited *your* mind. ; P

Rainy Dayz: I wouldn't say it was our *goal*, but, well, perks are always nice… *grins* Okay, okay, j/k. And why would we injure our main characters?? Haven't they been through enough? *smiles very unconvincingly*

Emmithar: *vaguely* Nice little ending? Uh, I think we already used those up during the first part of this fic (believe it or not)… I think we might have one on the second to last chapter! : )

saber crazy: Okay, fine, but you have to handle the cost of the damages, because my insurance doesn't cover clever readers. ; )

Enigma Jade: Just keep scrolling!

Lina Skye: Ooookey-dokey… Well, I suppose wanting to pick up his pieces is a compliment too… *shakes head to clear it* Glad you're liking it!

JastaElf: Oo, long review! I like those. : ) And thanks for the praise! In making this story we freaked our sister out by writing (amongst other things) a timeline and an injury chart, allotting such and so number of days for recovery after each injury, and so on. That helped us keep on track fairly well, but we still kind of worried we were cutting things too close, so I'm glad you approved in the end! I've never but *never* liked that aspect in other fics I've read either. Thanks for reading! And don't worry: we don't get too pressured. After all, you can't get us way over in-- but I think I'd better not tell you where we live. ; )

SpaceVixen: All you're missing are the pom-poms! ; )

Halo: I knew I shouldn't have mentioned that song… *giggles*

LittleFish: *hands LittleFish a tissue* I'm sorry you're so under the weather, but I'm glad our little post helped out at least a bit! And was *that* what your guess was? We actually had to think long and hard before we decided to send him to help Legolas and just leave a note for the slaves, so it's kind of funny that you were thinking along those lines. Glad our final choice worked out for you too! And thank you for your comments on our OC's!! We're both rather fond of them, and like to hear whether they turned out okay or not. 

And as for Dorm: He's a Leader. He's a proud and stubborn leader and he'll never admit he was wrong *out loud*, but he knows when he's misjudged people and he'll make use of whatever info comes his way, even if he doesn't much like the source.

Now go right back to bed and get better, you hear me? : )

And my goodness, that took a while!! Post ahead.

________________________________________________________________________

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 16

Battle Preparations

Nowin moved between the barrels of mead, heading once more towards his post at the far wall of the southwest storeroom. Not a sound had he heard all night, and had told his lord so, but Dorm was taking no chances: wherever the tunnel opened at last, the ruler of Gilthad intended to know of it well ahead of time.

Settling himself down with his back to the wall, Nowin just caught a faint movement out of the corner of his eye and sprang up, his hand going to his axe. "Come out from there, whoever you are," he ordered. "No one is to be here but the storeroom keepers and me." The figure that had been crouched behind one of the barrels rose, becoming taller than any dwarf Nowin had ever seen, and stepped into the light, inclining it's head politely.

"Your pardon, master dwarf. I will leave." It was the elf.

Nowin glared, mostly at himself for not realizing the creature had been there all along, as it soon became clear he must have been. Over in the corner where the elf had been sitting were three small piles of material: one of arrow heads, one of fletching, and one of shafts. Shaking his head as the elf made to collect his things and go, Nowin moved closer, just idle enough to be interested in what the creature was doing so far under ground.

Accepting the permission and seating himself once more, Legolas returned to his work as the dwarf leaned against a sack of barley and eyed him, his forehead creasing.

"What are you at?" Nowin asked bluntly, recognizing the fletching feathers as those the dwarves themselves used.

"Your lord was gracious enough to allow me the privilege of arming myself from your stores." Legolas replied coolly, his slender fingers maneuvering a small knife with careful precision as he sighted along a shaft and then set to shaving it thinner.

"And you thank him by taking the gift apart?" Nowin demanded, mesmerized in spite of himself by the steady rhythm of a Silvan elf at work.

Legolas began binding what appeared to be an arrow head to the end of the shaft, but it had been changed so that it looked more like a small, pointed leaf to the dwarf. "Your bows are too small," the elf explained, "and your arrows are generally crooked. I am merely repairing what I do not have time to make afresh."

Nowin could easily see that the bow sitting next to the elf was completely new, and though not carved as intricately as the one Legolas had formerly owned, it was admittedly beautiful. Still, the comment about the quality of his own weapons rankled him and so he said nothing about it, choosing instead to settle back and watch as the elf cut a long strand of his own hair to bind the feathers to the end of the shaft. Lifting one of the completed arrows from their pile, Nowin turned it over in his rough hands, noticing, as only a dwarf fond of archery could have, the subtle variations in manufacture from those in his own quiver.

"And how much difference does all this pottering make?" He snorted, tossing the arrow back again and lifting his own hunting bow from his shoulder proudly. He knew it had surprised the elf that they were archers, and knew also that, among dwarves at least, they were considered quite good shots.

The elf stiffened, his sharp blue-gray eyes catching the dwarf contemptuously, "Master dwarf, as I have told your lord, your greatest opportunity for victory lies in your archers. With the flaw in their armor, the orcs stand little chance against a well aimed shot. However, a well aimed shot is worthless if the weapon aimed will not travel it's correct course." Rising abruptly, the elf twitched his hair over his shoulder, notched a shaft to his bow, and almost without seeming to consider his shot, let the arrow loose. Far across the storeroom, a candle by the record books winked out and there was a faint clatter as the shaft landed somewhere beyond. 

Not allowing himself to show surprise, yet knowing full well a target as small and distant as that was well beyond him, Nowin turned back to find the elf gazing at him. "If I were you, master dwarf, I would practice hard." With that, Legolas stepped lightly around the dwarf and started across the room to retrieve his arrow.

For a moment Nowin stood still, but then, with a glance to make sure the elf couldn't see, he lifted one of the remade shafts and turned quietly back to his post. Settling down behind a stack of barrels, with one ear cocked to the wall again, he pulled out his knife and began to strip the fletching from his arrows. 

^^^^^^^^^^^

The large throne room of Mt. Gilthad had been temporarily converted into a shooting range for Funmar's archers, allowing them space to work underground, away from any spies of the enemy. Dorm was a hardened warrior and understood perfectly the value of a surprise defense, as well as a surprise attack.

Stumping down the short hall to a smaller antechamber, Moín shoved the door open and moved inside. This room also had been altered from it's original use of dining hall to a war room, it's table now covered in maps and a rough model of the western edge of Gilthad. Sitting around it were Dorm's most trusted dwarves with the lord himself positioned at the table's head. At his side sat Roden, the armorer, and they were conversing quietly. 

Moín moved to the last empty seat between Bonfur and Thúril and took a moment to glance at the others in the room. Funmar was on Dorm's other side, listening intently to the conversation next to him. Frerin, Nori, and Nowin were sitting just next to him, and Frói was fidgeting with his short beard a few seats down. One dwarf from each of the watch shifts was there, as well as the keeper of the storerooms, the foreman of the miners, several from the smelting chambers, one from the smithy, and, not sitting, but standing in the far corner was — the elf. Moín's face became rigid and he turned resolutely away.

Rising, now that the table was filled, Dorm raised his voice to fill the chamber, "Dwarves, I have called you now to prepare a defense against coming invasion. Our four watchers have at last heard clear evidence that there *is* a tunnel being dug into our halls."

Low murmurs circulated, but they had become rather used to the idea by now, and the confirmation did little more than set the final seal on the possibility. However, Thúril leaned forward in concern, "My lord Dorm, did you say our *four* watchers?"

Dorm nodded grimly, "Yes, Thúril, the other three have heard the same sounds as you. We must suppose then that the enemy has split their tunnel into four branches, planning to break through at different points. This would normally lead to our slaughter, but because of advanced warning from Glor, we have time to prepare a fitting welcome for them."

Moín smirked in the direction of the elf, but Legolas was standing silent and impassive, letting no reaction to Dorm's omission of him show on his face. Indeed, it mattered little what the dwarves said or did not say about him, so long as they prevented the spread of Furnmorth's rule. And he was here to be sure they were capable.

"We will divide our forces as well," Dorm was saying, "and station our groups in each of the four rooms where the tunnels will open out. I myself will lead one group in the smelting chambers. Thúril, you will lead a second group in the guardroom. Bonfur will have charge of a third group in the northwest storeroom, and you, Moín, will have charge of the fourth group in the southwest storeroom. Funmar's archers will be divided amongst your groups."

Funmar nodded, stroking his braided beard, "Aye."

Dorm turned to Frói, "How long until Glor breaks through?"

Frói looked ill at ease as he rose to make his report, "My lord Dorm, Glor says two days, but he fears that the army will have already arrived before then."

Dorm jerked his head in acknowledgment, "It is as I thought. Tell him to continue as ordered and let it fall when it falls. We will plan without it."

The meeting lasted for several hours, with thought taken to the natural defenses of the four chambers, the sorts of tactics that might be used to slay large numbers of the enemy, and the absolute necessity of keeping their foes contained — "Once they come around behind us, they will be nearly impossible to hunt down." Dorm had reminded everyone darkly. Finally, when the companies had been assigned to their leaders, the provisions accounted for, the armor listed, and last instructions provided, everyone was slowly dismissed to their tasks until Dorm was standing alone, gazing at the model of the four rooms where his mountain's fate would be decided.

At least, not quite alone.

"I know you are still there," he announced gruffly. "Don't bother hiding."

Legolas stepped from the shadows, his newly filled quiver slung over his shoulder with his bow, and two daggers strapped strangely to his back, his face blank. "I was not hiding, Lord Dorm."

"Of course." The dwarf's tone was sarcastic. "I suppose you'll be fleeing towards the woods, or wherever, now you have the means to protect yourself?"

Legolas shook his head, his strangely cut hair, which he had braided carefully out of his way, swaying gently with the movement, "No, I will stay and fight."

Dorm glanced sidelong at the elf, his bushy eyebrows connecting in a frown, "You'll what?"

"I will stay and fight," Legolas repeated. "Furnmorth must be defeated and I will do what I must to see that done."

Humphing softly, the dwarf lord turned away, "As you will."

Legolas shrugged, "What is more, I still have a friend in Gundabad. I will not be turning home without him."

"What if he's already dead?" Dorm suggested harshly, his own worries hardening his words.

The elf didn't answer, but looking down at his left hand, he clenched it silently.

^^^^^^^^^^^

The ropes creaked, tightening in the calloused hands that tugged on them, slowly lifting another chunk of stone from the narrow shaft and moving it to the center of the marked rectangle. Glor wiped his arm across his forehead, looking around at the eight other shafts being dug, four on one side, four on the other, and at the large pile of stone gathering in the center.

"Three days work," he grunted, unsure whether to feel pleased that his estimate was proving true, or to feel disturbed that the tunnel had not yet fallen through. Not so much as a buckle or a twitch from the stone beneath his feet. Or was there…? Faintly, like the rumbling of the tide as heard from far inland, there came a murmur from the earth; a faint tremor that was like a wisp of cloud: half real, half vapor.

Around him, the other workers had paused as well, their tools poised in mid-motion as their legs, more than their ears, caught the sound. Crouching in the light powdering of snow and stone dust, his fingers brushing the rock, Glor nodded with certainty.

"They're on their way."

^^^^^^^^^^^

Standing in the darkness, his back against a finely hewn pillar, Legolas' fingers flexed gently as they held his bow, his bright eyes glittering faintly as they moved from left to right. Even without the finely tuned intuition of the dwarves and their stones, he could feel the pounding of feet, and hear the snarling of the beasts that were soon to be let loose.

Cocking his head to the side, ready to turn immediately towards the first room that sounded in need of aid, Legolas remained still and silent.

^^^^^^^^^^^

In each of the four chambers, the dwarves also stood silently, the torchlight reflecting brightly on their dark eyes, rough skin, and fearsome expressions. Line upon line, bows drawn amongst the archers, and axes hefted amongst the rest, they waited.

Letting his gaze travel over the ranks around him, Dorm let a grim smile grace his lips; if today he must die, he would go gladly. Dorm, son of Damrod, Lord of Gilthad, warrior of the Iron Hills, ruler of a formidable people. But until then — and his grip tightened on his axe — his duty was to fight, and fight well. For his throne, for his mountain, and for his subjects.

From the front of the room, the echoes of movement halted and there was a sudden scraping sound. With a loud *chhok*, a spike was driven sudden through the wall from behind, a second appearing almost immediately after it, nearly ten paces further on. A third appeared farther down from the first, a fourth farther down from the second, and a fifth in the middle.

Then, with a smattering crash, all five pegs were hit simultaneously and the wall burst inwards. Before the echoes had even reached the far wall, there was horrible yell and from the spreading dust, there sprang the first row of the horde, hunger in their eyes.

****

TBC…


	17. Gilthad Invaded

****

*Sarah walks onto thread to find it an odd assortment of chaos: SpaceVixen with pompoms -- Halo 'meeping' and hunting for tissue -- Kelen getting tense -- Lina squeezing Aragorn…again -- Tom going pale -- RainyDayz wielding a super-soaker -- saige and Starfleet Hobbit dying of suspense -- Cheysuli making a very bloody end to a bunch of orcs -- and sabercrazy with a- *blinks* -a chainsaw.*

*shouts to be heard over the racket*

Carrie: Thanks! And no, I'm beginning to think that nobody is as protective as Lina… I can't say for Siri, but for myself: I've already read Being Estel on Cassia's site and it was very cute, if a little on the gray-hair inducing side! Great work! : )

Freakizimi: A film, eh? Boy that's a scary thought… And as it happens, originally all the chapters *did* include both characters, but when some of the chapters that were supposed to be only eight pages got lengthened to eigh_teen _pages_, _we were forced to divide them into two (or sometimes even three) different pieces, thus leaving our heroes with several solo chapters. Interesting trivia bit: this story was originally only seventeen chapters long. Anyhow, sorry about that! : )

None (do you have a screen name?): *innocently* Who said he was going to warn Thranduil? After all: that's the *sane* thing to do. ; )

Artemisa: Glad you approve! We rather feared 'Kelegalen' was too long…

Enigma: tsk tsk, what will we do with you? Besides indulge you, that is. ; )

Cheysuli: Bleck. Still, you gotta do what you gotta do, and I'm pretty sure no one will miss all those little monsters… Well, Furnmorth might have, but then, he's dead. And I'm sure it's not strange to think of Nowin as cute! I'm just glad you liked him, period. And besides that, I'm rather fond of him myself… He was fun to write! : )

Akia: I'm very grateful you made an exception for us. It's always nice to know there are people who enjoy reading this as much as we enjoy posting it, and longish reviews *make our day*! As for the rest of your comments/questions: see the ones for None and Cheysuli. : )

Littlefish: A thousand thanks and more! Writers will from time to time suffer a faint sense of nervousness regarding their creations and it's people like you that keep us from trashing the whole thing and starting over. And an especial hug for the dwarf comment!!! We started into that part with the vague realization that we'd never tried dwarves before… and what if they came out sounding… or what if they turned out looking…WRONG?? We didn't want to overdo the grouchiness, but didn't want to make them openly softhearted either, and in the end just crossed our fingers and went for instinct. *whew* As for nail-biting: we'll do our best! And I'm glad you're feeling better. : )

_______________________________________________________________________

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

Chapter 17

Gilthad Invaded

Naraka plunged ahead, the loud cries of his army resounding in his ears as he led the charge, feeling the intoxicating thrum of battle in his veins.

As he broke through the dust, he caught sight of a huge vat not far away and smiled: it was a smelting chamber as Lord Furnmorth had predicted. It was not until he took two more steps that he saw the room was full of more than just smelting pots, however. Standing row upon row, their armor shining brightly, the dwarves were waiting for them.

There was no faltering in the ranks as the orcs poured from the hole, neither on the part of the dwarves, who stayed dourly to meet them, or on the part of the orcs, who were maddened beyond caution and charged on.

The two armies met with a clash, the deafening noise filling the high vaulted chamber, and the roar of the dwarves reverberating over all.

"DOOORRMM!"

^^^^^^^^^^^

The archers had fired a clean row of shots, their arrows finding entrance all the way down the line, felling the orcs as if they had reached an invisible wall. The second group surged over top of the corpses, a blood-freezing yell in their throats.

Thúril stood calmly behind the barrier he had raised, letting the first of the orcs try to climb it before giving his dwarves leave to set upon them. Swinging their blades heavily, the dwarves cleaved through heads and helmets, biting through the beaten steel like it was paper, and shouting their lord's name as a battle cry. Slowly, but surely, the orcs were driven back to the wall once more, a grisly mound piled in front of the barrier. Bringing his archers back up, Thúril prepared for the next mad rush.

But Guruthos was man, not orc, and now that his troops' first battle lust was blunted and their heads were clearer, he arranged them in an orderly line and marched them back across the old guard room, their sabers drawn and held upright in a sort of en garde position. A position that, unbeknownst to them, also covered the hole in their armor.

Gesturing to his archers, Thúril ordered them back and summoned up his axe dwarves once more. "Mount the wall!" He called to them, "Take them from above."

^^^^^^^^^^^

Bonfur had also laid a barrier, but his was broken down in the first assault and now his dwarves were backed against the wall, fighting desperately for their lives. The archers had fired one salvo, dropping many orcs where they stood, when the wall had first broken, but now they were too close to the enemy to fire accurately, and were falling back on axes like the rest, as orcs poured like black ants from the tunnel.

^^^^^^^^^^^

After four days of travel, the running orcs had suddenly begun to move faster, as if in anticipation, and Aragorn, far from moving up the line, had been forced back. For a moment the whole column had stopped, as if the foremost runners had hit a wall, but then the group surged forward once more and he was carried on.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas was just turning towards Bonfur's storeroom, when he was startled by the sound of armor rattling down the tunnel behind him. Leaping behind a pillar, his bowstring taut, he sighted for the corner and had his arrow perfectly lined up for a spot right between the eyes when the intruder rounded the corner.

Nowin's head jerked and he raised his hand as he just caught sight of the shadow lying in wait for him. "Wait!" he called sharply, even as an arrow thudded just beside his ear, it's feather brushing him in passing.

Legolas stepped from concealment, "It is well you called, or that might have entered your head." Then it dawned on him. "What is your errand up here? You were sent to the southwest storeroom."

Nowin shrugged, "Moín has decided he has no need of archers; he never was a good shot himself. Either way, we have been sent off."

He would have said more, but the elf had retrieved his arrow and already started down the passage, calling over his shoulder as he went, "You're needed in the northwest storeroom."

"Elf." Nowin grunted, but he led his contingent of archers away.

^^^^^^^^^^^

There was no door on the southwest storeroom, but rather a narrow tunnel, and this could only be collapsed from the inside as a last resort to keep the enemy from spreading into the mountain. Pulling it in would spell death for all dwarves still behind it, and Legolas had no intention of doing that just yet.

Running swiftly round the curves, his bow already drawn, he reached the storeroom proper and leased two arrows at once, catching an orc on the end of each shaft and sparing Orin an ugly death. Here too, as in the northwest storeroom, the dwarves had been forced back, but here, though the ceiling was higher and the range was better, there were no archers to fire volleys into the coming hordes. At each wave, the defender's line was pressed back by sheer brute strength, the lithe, wiry bodies of the orcs thrusting chest to chest with the stocky, powerful dwarves. 

Even as the elf watched, they were driven another half step back. 

"Moín!" Legolas called, his clear voice cutting through the din as he wove skillfully through the mêlée to where the dwarf commander was directing his company.

The dwarf did not look up, "Bern, take twenty and aim for their heart! I don't want to see you back until you've cut straight through the center and split them in two!"

The soldier opened his mouth to protest, but Moín bellowed his command afresh and the cowed dwarf stumbled away to do his leader's bidding.

"Moín!" Legolas repeated, laying his hand on the dwarf's thick arm.

Moín jerked away from the touch, his face curling into a snarl, "Listen, elf, I have a battle to fight here and I don't need you thrusting yourself in under my authority, understand?"

"But Moín, there are too many orcs coming in for a maneuver like that. You have to concentrate on keeping them in and not breaking—" The elf nearly tumbled backwards as the dwarf's hand suddenly whipped sideways, catching him hard across the side of the head.

"MY command!" Moín bellowed, his face red, "MINE! No filthy elf with bows and arrows is going to supplant ME!"

Legolas' eyes burned with disgust and fury as he turned away, stringing two more arrows and loosing them, but making no effect on the swarming masses that continued to pour from the hole. Still, he pressed on, catching sight of Bern's small troop of dwarves that were preparing for their fool-hardy rush. His eyes flicked rapidly on, looking for the orcs' leader. With a roar, the dwarves sprang forward, axes swinging as they mowed through the center of the host and cut down all who stood before them. They were nearly to the far wall, their charge having carried them like an arrow through smoke, when the 'smoke' closed around behind them. Shrieking with horrible delight, the orcs cut off their retreat, holding them isolated in the center of the horde, and pouncing.

Legolas visibly flinched as the cries of the abandoned dwarves were silenced almost immediately beneath the cruel trampling feet of their foes. With such tactics Moín stood no chance.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Glor thumped his thigh urgently, "Come, lads, pull! Pull!"

The pile in the center of the rectangle was taller than any of them, and the shafts now extended so far that they could hear echoes of the orcs' voices, but still the poles they had inserted refused to budge. There was a sudden report from one of the levers as it snapped in two and Óen backed away to avoid the splinters.

"Óen," Glor barked, "move one pole over! Three counts, then I want each of you to pull as if your life depended on it!" *Which it does* The unspoken finish rang as loudly in the dwarves' minds as did the counts. "ONE, TWO, THREEE!" Muscles bunched and feet scrabbled in snow as every dwarf threw themselves against the levers with a yell. There was a crack like lightening striking and a black line suddenly appeared, cutting the rectangle lengthwise under the pile. Still the dwarves thrust on, faces flushing with exertion, and finally, with a crumbling groan that shook the very mountains around them, the earth began to tumble from under their feet.

"GET BACK!" Glor bellowed, grabbing the back of Frói's jerkin and yanking him away as the rectangle collapsed completely with a thunderous roar.

^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Sprinting forward, Aragorn lunged between the soldiers ahead of him, his ears catching before theirs the distant rumble in the earth. Above him the ceiling began to crack and groan, the shoring spikes wavering as they struggled to hold up the tunnel, and then sliding free to land on the heads of those below. 

Then, with a deafening crash, the whole ceiling caved in, crushing those still standing beneath it like insects.

Hurling himself bodily away, Aragorn struck his head on a rock and pushed himself onward. Up ahead the tunnel branched into separate passages and he was jostled by the remaining orcs to the far right, recognizing only as he choked on the roiling dust, that the dwarves had no warning, and now the enemy was coming at them through four different ways.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas snatched a knife from the belt of a fallen dwarf, hurling it towards the far side of the room. The dagger caught it's target easily, and as the orc fell, Legolas finally caught sight of the leader for this group: Balkhfiren. Even as the man looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of the elf, there was a rumbling boom from back in the tunnel as Glor finally finished his job.

The orcs, however, instead of slowing, actually came faster as those not caught by the falling stone tried to escape the confines of the underground passage. Confused by the sudden rush, the dwarves fell back even farther and Legolas caught a glimpse of an orc, slain only moments before reaching the tunnel that led into Gilthad itself.

Caught, as he was, too far from the entrance to protect it, the elf did not even wonder if Moín would doom himself to death by bringing down the passage to close them in. "Dwarf." He spat, frustration filling him as two more orcs burst their way out. In a moment the last of the dwarves would be mown down and the passage would stand open, but if he hurried, he might still be able to warn Dorm before the force fell upon him from behind.

Only one thought comforted the elf as he made his decision: at least no *more* orcs could come. Loosing arrows all the way, trying wherever possible to hit the men and therefore possibly bring down Balkhfiren before leaving, Legolas started towards the opening.

****

TBC…


	18. CaveIn!

****

Sarah returns! (Siri will pop in next time)

Cheysuli: *cracks up* LOL! Yeah, I've heard orc-flesh isn't exactly ambrosia…

Asen: Nice to see ya! As for the dwarf names: hang around after the end of the last chapter and we'll tell ya! : )

Saige: You're right, it wouldn't. ; )

Lina: *giggles* You're the oddest combination of lover and mother I've ever seen. And who wouldn't smell skanky with the kind of life he leads?

Chloe: As usual, you put your sister and myself into hearty rounds of hysterics every time you post. Every time you open your mouth, actually… CHIGITA-SHIFTY-CHOOGIDA-BOOGIDO!?? What author in the world uses THAT?? I'm glad you like my sound-effects, though; I'm rather fond of them. As for Moin… heyah, well, he's sort of, um, a nuisance to write (though I will mention that, like Nowin, _Hannah _invented him); it's difficult to write characters when the only thing you're looking forward to about them is their deaths. But who said Moin dies? *sigh*

Okay, and while you mull that over and try to decide whether or not it's a red herring: I'm also glad you liked the irony and arrow scenes! Both those were added as sort of after thoughts, and I was unsure as to how the arrow scene in particular would go over. I had a lot of fun writing it! : )

None: Okey-doke! I just didn't want to keep calling you 'None' if it turned out you had just forgotten to put down your screen name. And yes, insanity is pleasantly catching with them (pleasant from the writer's POV anyway).

saber crazy: Shoulda seen that one coming… Still, I guess it's a compliment!

Starfleet Hobbit: Tell you??? Oh, no, no, no, no… ; )

RainyDayz: *glances worriedly at new ammo while trying to be diplomatic* No, we don't enjoy it, uh, TOO much, just, well, a little. And I don't know where that rumor got started, but you'll find out the truth of it soon enough. Thanks! *hides*

SpaceVixen: Be careful not to break someone's jaw… Someone non-orc, that is. ; )

Halo: Whence came this 'meep'??

Tom: As I told Chloe, I dislike Moin also. *sigh* Still, such people DO exist, and well… *tries to stop fist from clenching* Anyway, I'm glad you like our action!!

Littlefish: Bad for blood pressure? US?? *blushes* Oh, you're too kind. Thank you for the prized compliment on our battle! Siri's done one-on-one stuff, but I hadn't even done *that* before now (the wolf scene was pretty much my first), and neither one of us have seriously tackled major battles before. We weren't quite sure how they'd come off, and I especially worried about whether our readers would find the back and forth thing confusing or irritating... I'm glad you didn't!

*blushes scarlet* And thank you about the dwarves too! My goodness gracious sakes, but you *do* know how to make people feel more confident, don't you? I think the only thing we were really aiming for with the dwarves was keeping them from becoming just another set of villains. After all: People like Moin can be found even amongst elves, but then, so can people like Legolas amongst dwarves.

And as for your questions: They will be answered in the following four chapters, and I hope you will be pleased at the end! : ) 

And now, oh faithful and excellent Writers Of Feedback: Your reward for being so complimentary!

________________________________________________________________________

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 18

Cave-In! 

The arrival of Nowin and his archers was greatly appreciated. The ranks of dwarves under the command of Bonfur rallied behind him preparing a volley of shafts to send into the oncoming horde that was slowly pushing them into a corner. "Steady your aim lads!" Bonfur called. "Drop and fire!" The two orders were obeyed immediately — the dwarves armed only with axes dropped to the ground and the first volley of shafts was loosed at the enemy. "Drop and fire!" Bonfur called again, and the archers ducked to reload their arrows as the second volley was fired into the orcs from behind the first. The shrieking of orcs echoed through the chamber as the shafts found their marks. As soon as these archers ducked to reload, the warriors armed with axes rushed forward, charging the orcs and taking full advantage of their surprise attack. Bonfur would have never admitted it even in his mind, but it was hard to escape the fact that the elf's information had been correct: the weakness in the orcs' armor was destroying them. 

When the axe dwarves fell back, Nowin's archers were ready for another round of fire with Bonfur's archers at the ready directly behind. Bonfur allowed a smile to cross his face, the orcs were falling before the attack in hideous mounds. 

Slowly the battle was being won. 

^^^^^^^^^^^

The last cries of the crushed orcs filled Aragorn's ears as the world fell down around him. He had been in a cave-in before and knew enough to keep ahead of it this time. He was well down the shaft when the ripple effect of Glor's work encroached on his ground. Putting on an extra burst of speed he crossed the distance to the light at the end of the tunnel, ignoring the heavy rainfall of gravel. Reaching the mouth of the tunnel, Aragorn did not pause to be further injured by the falling debris but threw himself into the chamber.

He entered out into chaos. 

Everywhere dwarves and orcs were locked in combat, the orcs that had fled the tunnel swarming in and overwhelming the already failing dwarves. Even as he fought to get his bearings, a dwarf beside him was cut down by the viciously accurate blade of an orc warrior, killing him instantly. 

From somewhere further on an arrow shot past him and lodged firmly in the throat of an orc, right where the armor failed. Relief that the dwarves had discovered the armor's weakness flowed briefly through him — that at least made up some for his failure. Though he had been unable to warn the dwarves, he would not let himself despair. He would fight to his own end if it meant he could save his friend's home. 

No longer hunched over so as to pass as an orc, the Dúnadan straightened. Through the open place in his helmet he clearly saw where the thick of the battle lay, and heedless of the danger, Aragorn plunged into the mêlée, cutting down orcs even as he crossed the chamber.

^^^^^^^^^^^

The leader let out a pained scream as Legolas' knife found flesh, driving harshly into his back. The man fell, but Legolas all ready knew it was not Balkhfiren. His eyes probed over the heads of swarming orcs and battling dwarves — the ranks of Moín were being steadily driven back and Legolas knew before long it would be too late to warn Dorm...but he did not wish to leave his job unfinished. He knew the dwarves would stand a better chance against the enemy if the orcs were leaderless. 

Whirling from the fallen man he loosed three arrows rapidly at a group of orcs surrounding some dwarves near the orcs' forced entrance, all the while keeping half his mind aware of his own defense as the battle swirled and raged close about him. Legolas' keen gaze swept the chamber, hoping to catch sight of Balkhfiren, seeing instead another man, battling deep in the thick of the attacks.

He could not get a clear view of the man's progress or fighting capability, but it did not matter: the men must be killed. The elf pushed with a surprising grace through the crowds of battling orcs and dwarves, pausing but once to whirl and shoot an arrow into the throat of one orc trying to over power him. Legolas turned back to the man who was even now raising a dagger to cut into the victim beneath him and abruptly end the fight between the orc and dwarf. 

In a burst of fury Legolas flew forwards and wrapped a strong arm across the man's throat, jerking him roughly away from the two warriors and back towards the wall. He had taken the man entirely off guard and for a moment the human did not react, and when he did begin to struggle, Legolas had him too firmly for him to escape. 

The prince wrenched the helmet from the man's head so as to get a clear place to drive a dagger into the flesh of the man's throat. The helmet clattered to the floor and an abundance of dark hair fell across Legolas' arm. But the elf did not take notice of it, his slender hands moving swiftly as he pressed his dagger hard to the man's neck. 

The man let out a light cry of pain at the sudden pressure and it was in that moment that a very real truth struck Legolas. The elf nearly fell over backwards, but just managed to keep his wits as he pulled the man around...and stared directly into a pair of vibrant blue eyes. 

For a full minute, as the battle stormed on, neither could say a word. Then the man choked on a sob as he looked up at the elf, gently reaching up to touch him, to assure himself that he was really there.

"Legolas..." He whispered, his eyes showing an unexpected look of pain. The prince himself was as shocked to see the ranger as he was that he had nearly killed his friend, but there was something else in the young man's eyes as he stared at Legolas… Suddenly Aragorn stumbled forward, still slightly winded by the elf's attack, and embraced his friend tightly. Legolas, relieved to see the young man alive and well, returned the embrace in kind. "Naraka said you were dead." Aragorn whispered after a moment and Legolas felt his heart shiver in realization.

All this time, the young man had truly thought the elf was dead. Alone in Gundabad, with Naraka's lies preying upon his heart — Legolas' fury burned hotly, but for now there was no place for that, or fatal mistakes might be made.

Gently pulling away, he looked at the ranger. "I am well my friend, I am very well. I am only glad to see *you* so."

Aragorn's eyes had tears in them, but he smiled. He looked ready to say something else when at last an orc caught sight of them standing still, broke away from it's fight, and lunged at Legolas. The unfortunate brute found an arrow and dagger waiting for him and fell instantly. Aragorn was still smiling as he turned back to the elf, a new confidence in his bearing.

"I feel we should return to the fight."

Legolas nodded and smiled back, gripping his friend's arm, they would have to speak further later. And now that they were together again, they both felt sure there would be a later.

Leaving the slight safety of the wall, they rejoined the battle around them. 

^^^^^^^^^^^

The knot of orcs surrounding the score dwarves never heard the attack coming — in the tumult behind them the whisper of the elf and human was impossible to distinguish and only one lived long enough to realize who was attacking them before they all lay dead. Aragorn swiftly stabbed the last and withdrew his sword smoothly as the creature fell with a howl and a dwarf leapt out of it's path. Without a word of thanks the dwarves dove back into the fray. Three fell immediately.

"What happened here?" Aragorn asked. Organization was all but gone and he watched with dismay as the last vestiges of the defending army were slowly cut down. 

Legolas observed the battle grimly and said nothing for a moment, then: "Moín is a fool." Aragorn knew not who 'Moín' was, but he presumed it was a dwarf. Legolas turned away as six more dwarves fell. "We must warn Lord Dorm, we haven't much time and before long these orcs will swarm the smelting chambers. They will take the dwarves completely off guard and cut off any hope of escape." 

Aragorn nodded. "Then let us hurry."

Legolas started to lead him towards a faster exit that he knew of, and he realized he would have to leave Balkhfiren. He was not sure where the man was, but it mattered little now. 

The combat around them had not ceased, but Aragorn could see the lull of effort on the dwarves' parts; they were giving up. Aragorn dropped nearly to his knees to avoid a orc blade that had been sent singing towards him, rising almost without thinking to continue on — he knew enough about these particular creatures to recognize that they had deadly aim. From his encounter with them in Gundabad he also knew of their ruthlessness and the searing burn on his cheek served as a constant reminder.

Legolas led the way far ahead, lithely dodging the many battling dwarves and orcs, inserting an arrow where he could, but always aiming ahead along his path so he could retrieve it later. It soon became apparent where the elf was heading: a small shelf above them that seemed to lead on to another cave. It struck the ranger then that Legolas was, yet again, being forced to traverse the underground, and he felt a moment of regret that his friend was forever having to deal with this fear of his.

They were drawing closer when a dwarf tumbled, dead, into Aragorn's path, causing him to stumble backwards. He caught his footing quickly, but it was a distraction he could not afford to make. 

In the instant he stumbled he felt a strong arm grip him around the chest and yank him backwards, nearly taking him off his feet anyway. Aragorn tensed as his captor grabbed hold of his wrist and squeezed it hard — he tried to hold onto his sword but the pressure was too much and the weapon clattered to the floor. "Where are *you* going?" Balkhfiren snarled in his ear, gripping his dark hair and pulling the young man's head against his shoulder. Aragorn tried to wrench away, but the lieutenant would not give him the chance. "Just thought you'd come along for the ride, slave?" he spat, jerking Aragorn harshly, then releasing his hair long enough to snatch a dagger out from it's sheath. Without a moment of hesitation he pressed the weapon into Aragorn's back beginning to plunge it towards the young man's ribs and past that, to his heart. A killing thrust. Aragorn gave a cry as the dagger bit into his flesh.

Suddenly a hiss of air passed a mere inch from the ranger's head and a long arrow buried itself in his attacker's throat. Balkhfiren choked, screaming without sound, and released the ranger, wrenching the dagger free at the same moment. Aragorn arched his back sharply at the pain and lurched forward, only to be caught by steady hands and gently moved away.

"I have you, Strider." Legolas spoke reassuringly, angry with himself for very nearly loosing his friend after so soon gaining him back again. Aragorn let out a moan he had not meant to reveal. 

"I'm fine, Legolas," he whispered, his voice trembling. Trying to straighten, he protested when the elf did not release him, "Really I am."

"Is that right?" Legolas sounded anything but interested in his answer. 

Actually, Aragorn *didn't* feel very good, and the deep wound in his back made it hard for him to climb to the mouth of the tunnel above them, but he felt he would be fine if only they could stop for a moment. Once in the tunnel though, Legolas came to a full standstill and turned on his friend.

"Let me see that."

"No," Aragorn shook his head firmly, "we've wasted much time already. You must make haste if you are to warn the—" His words were cut short and ended in a hiss of pain as Legolas pressed some ointment he had prepared days before, in case of an emergency, into the wound.

"Do not try to argue with me, human." Legolas scolded. "We waste more time with your stubborn insistence." The elf made short work of bandaging the cut, and when he was through Aragorn did feel much better, but still he paused. He knew that the battle was waning to nothing below as the orcs slew the last remnants of the dwarves.

The ranger looked half tempted to return to the warriors' aid, but Legolas put a hand on his friend's arm, restraining him gently. "Worry yourself not, Strider, their own folly was their destruction and we can do nothing for them now. However we may yet save the lives of others." With these words the two continued down the tunnel. Legolas quietly explained that the only route the orcs, now more thirsty than ever for blood, could take was one main passage that was itself twice the length of the path they traveled now. "Had Balkhfiren still been alive he would likely have noticed a shorter way," Legolas murmured from just ahead of the human, "but with only the last few men taking command, they will take the surest way."

Aragorn nodded: they still had time.

The tunnel opened out into a darkened chamber. "This is a side room to the smelting chamber." Legolas explained as they swiftly moved from the room down a hall. At the edge of this hall Aragorn saw the larger hall branching off towards the place where the orcs would come, and even now he could hear their cries of glee as they ran down the passage, greedy for their next kill. For a moment Aragorn stopped and stared at the walls as the yells of orcs began to fill the air, then Legolas grabbed the slightly dazed ranger and pulled him into the smelting chamber. 

Here the battle was at a peak, though Dorm's dwarves seemed to be taking the upper hand. At least they had kept the orcs at bay by their forced entrance...but that would soon change.

"Lord Dorm!" Legolas called over the throb of battle. The dwarf lord ignored the elf as he gave leave to his archers to send another volley into the approaching horde. "Dorm!" Legolas tried again, knowing the dwarf could hear him, but still he gave no answer. Aragorn cocked a glance over his shoulder: the orcs would be upon them soon and these dwarves had not the time to be stubborn.

Angrily, Aragorn stormed towards the dwarven lord. Had the battle not been so important, he might have given in to his inclination and slammed the stubborn creature against the wall. "My lord, there are orcs even now massing down that passage to gather here and take you from behind." 

Dorm stopped dead in the middle of an order and whirled on the human. "And who, may I ask, are you?"

"I am Legolas' friend," the ranger replied simply, "and I swear to you, Dorm, that if you do not act now the enemy will be upon you before you have a chance to prevent it." 

Dorm took in the young man's words and the intensity of his eyes and gave a short, curt nod. "Rundin, Gruri and Dorin, you take your troops and block the back entrance, do not let anyone get through!"

"It won't be enough." Legolas observed from where he'd come to stand next to Aragorn.

"It has to be." Dorm said in a surprisingly quiet voice.

Legolas shouldered his bow with a swift swing and Aragorn drew his sword once more from it's scabbard. 

"We will do all we can." The Dúnadan promised and the two companions headed for the mouth of the cave. 

Dorm stared for a moment odd the odd pairing. To him it was quite as odd as seeing a dwarf in the comfortable company of an elf — perish the thought. But somehow, this man and this elf had both loyalty and trust between them, easily recognized by even those who avoided both groups. //That must have been the one the elf was going back to Gundabad for.// 

The rage of the battle drew Dorm's attention back to the present conflict, and he personally led the next charge, swinging his bloodied axe and yelling the dwarvish battle cry, "Baruk Khazâ d! Khazâ d aimê nu!" Across the chamber it echoed, carried up by the many voices of the dwarves, along with the constant chant, "Dorm, Dorm, Dorm!"

Stubbornly, perhaps, the lord of Gilthad pushed away the fear that at any moment they would be charged from behind and likely destroyed. It made little difference; he knew what they would do: they would either win this battle or they would die trying, but never retreat.

^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Captain Naraka signaled another group of orcs forward. Yelling with pleasure, the dreadful army surged forward and locked in combat with the waiting dwarves, their lithe, sinewy bodies avoiding the sweeping blows of the heavy maces as their knifes and scimitars made deadly work amongst their opponents. Casually Naraka took toll. Three dwarves died in this lock and five orcs. At this rate logic would indicate that he was winning the battle, as the odds were about evenly two to one, but he knew that victory was not as assured as it had been before. Searing anger burned within him that the cursed dwarves had been lying in wait for them.

Anger especially because he could guess how they had been warned. The elf.

Naraka ground his sword into the midsection of an unprepared dwarf and in a sudden fit of rage he tore down three more with one blow. His eyes flashed like heat lightening, dry and deadly. The elf had been far more trouble than it was worth and if, he swore silently, he ever saw that miserable creature again he would have it's head before they parted. 

Ripping out a dagger from below his cloak he gave into his own blood-lust and attacked in full force, locking in immediate combat with the dwarf beside him. The dwarf was young for their race and surprisingly quick, yet he hefted his great axe like it was nothing, and with a lusty battle cry brought it swinging level with Naraka's neck. The captain ducked easily, driving his dagger up and into the broad chest where the chain mail ended, and the dwarf fell forward, leaving Naraka to turn and take down the next.

Yes, he would see victory one way or another, and no one would keep that from him.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Bonfur smiled with pleasure as the last of the orcs were cut down. The archers had done their work well and between his forces and the added help of Nowin's dwarves the enemy had been completely vanquished. A cry of triumph went up from the dwarves, and the archers were hailed with especial favor for their valiant attack.

"Now my friends!" Bonfur called over the tumult. "We will on to the other battles to see how our friends fare!" 

A shout of agreement went up and Bonfur decided their course.

"My men and I will go to the aid of Thúril and assist in his battle. You, Nowin, and your archers, will on to assist Lord Dorm."

The victorious dwarves raised their axes or bows into the air and gave a shout.

"Long life to Bonfur! Long life to Dorm! Long life to the halls of Gilthad!" Bonfur gave the word and the dwarves split apart, leaving the carnage behind them. The many fallen companions lay between the dead orcs and men, but the dwarves would return — when it was all over they would return for the bodies of the fallen.

Right now, they had a battle to win.

^^^^^^^^^^^

The clamor of the orcs gave a fair prior warning to their attack, but had the human and elf not fore-warned the dwarves they would not have had time to set up any manner of defense. 

Even now however, Legolas saw how truly hopeless the situation was. He glanced desperately at his friend. The young ranger had his sword in his hands, and his arms swung back, placing his sword hilt parallel with his own shoulder. The human had disposed of his armor and was now clothed only in the garments he had worn in Gundabad, much less burdensome than the heavy breastplate had been, but no protection against a knife thrust from the orcs, or a stray arrow from the dwarves. Wishing desperately that his friend could get to safety, Legolas moved forward — they were running short on time, and knew he had to try now.

"Strider, please get away from here."

Aragorn threw his friend a slightly hurt and definitely incredulous look. "What?"

"I would not wish you to die here." Legolas replied having to raise his voice as the orcs' cries grew louder and the battle continued to rage just behind them.

"Nor I you," Aragorn returned shaking his head, "but Legolas, I will not leave you here for my own safety's sake, you should know that."

"Yes, but if we die here, Mirkwood will have no warning." The prince's words seemed to touch Aragorn, but the young man would not be separated from his friend a second time for anything. Tightly he gripped his sword hilt, preparing for the enemy coming upon them.

"That is why we must not die, my friend."

Legolas had no opportunity to speak further, as the enemy burst through the passage without a further moment's warning. The elf swiftly leased an arrow into the multitude of attackers and caught an orc through the skull. Aragorn bit deep into one who lunged too far forward, and a dwarf to his right cleaved the head from second, using the backcut of the same swing to slash the legs from beneath a third. Two more dead orcs later, the dwarf let out a cry as a flying knife caught him, and fell forward, dead, on the pile of enemies he had slain. 

And on the battle continued.

****

TBC…


	19. The Desperate Conflict

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Hello everyone!! Hannah-Siri Here!! =D

WoW!! Thanx for all the lovely feedback!! *hugs everyone who will hold still long enough ;) * 

Yes our boys are FINALLY back together…took 'um long enough ;)

HaloGatomon: Oh *that's* what 'meep' means ;) I'd wondered!

Cheysuli: *blink blink* Oh my…our reader just went into total hysterics!!…It looks like Cheysuli may have gone *gasp* crazy!! *calls over shoulder* SARAH! Could you get some athelas! ;)

None: (Julie) I like that name! Though I *do* think 'none' is pretty clever, it's kind of hard to call someone that :D

RainyDayz: *is forced to dodge plaster-powder* YIPES!! ;) Yes, well, the 'almost killing him' thing was my idea of a clever reunion, and though Sarah liked it she kinda gave me a funny look when I first suggested it ;) *looks at RainyDayz prediction* Hmm…you never know ;)

Asen: That's funny, the power was out here almost all day yesterday :D Yeah! We're so loyal ;)

Mercredi: Ah yes, it's hard giving up things for stupid dwarves, but they have, in this case, a sort of ulterior motive ;)

Carrie: *blush* Why thank you!! I'm glad you liked their reunion! :D…oh and sorry about your blood pressure ;)

Lina Skye: *laughs* Yes, that is kind of funny! I'm sure Estel…umn…appreciates it ;) *jumps out of the way of her advance* Yipes! Maybe I'll just let YOU kill the rest of the evil-doers Lina =D

princess_leia94: Oh dear! *dodges plushy* Oh, uh…sorry Leia! ;) 

Chloe: *giggle* Hmm…maybe we should put Eowyn up instead, ya think?? ;) Oh and sorry about making you 'nearly cry'…I didn't mean to really!!…well maybe just a little bit ;)

Littlefish: *laughs* Oh well I'm glad you're still liking it! Even if we DID almost have Legolas kill Aragorn ;) Oh, and sorry we're bad for your health, we don't mean to be *grin*. Interesting guess. Oh and I take it you *didn't* like that Naraka made him cut his hair?? ;) *Takes the award for understatement of the year* heheh… =D

Tom Starry: YIPES! Herring!! *frowns* Boy the weapons you readers come up with. Yeah, better have Legolas kill um instead, he certainly has a better chance :D

Cassia: Heehee! Good to see ya again! Glad you're still liking our little story…hmm…well sort of little story ;)

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Katharine the Great: WoW! Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it :D

And sorry this is so late everyone!! We had our electricity out for a time yesterday, then our internet connection was going haywire today…anyway to make a long story short it took a while, but you didn't come here to hear me talk anyway so I'll be quiet… (I think that was a run-on sentence…never mind) 

ONTO THE NEXT POST!!

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^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 19

The Desperate Conflict

Because of Legolas' persistence in killing the men in the southwest storeroom, and the death of Balkhfiren, the orcs were, fortunately, not very organized. Still, these orcs knew how to fight independently as well as under a leader. They could be just as vicious individually as they were in a group, and were clever without instruction.

The elf had to move quickly to avoid the flying daggers that these orcs preferred — they threw them with deadly precision and more than once pierced a dwarf at least ten feet away straight through the skull. Legolas was very precise as well and felled many orcs by way of arrows, but he knew he was running short, and though he had tried to retrieve as many as possible, he had found to his surprise that the orcs continually broke them. It was unlike anything the elf had seen — even as an orc warrior fell dead in the midst of the horde, a second one would pause, yank the arrow free and snap it in half. All to prevent Legolas, or any of the dwarven archers, from retrieving it. What Aragorn had said was true: these creatures learned from their mistakes and were sure never to make the same one twice.

Unlike Legolas, Aragorn seemed to have a better notion of how to destroy them. From his previous encounter he knew the limits of their agility, as well as their favorite tactics. More than once the young ranger had prevented the appalling creatures from overwhelming him by moving quickly from left to right, throwing them off and halting their charge. As much as possible Legolas tried to imitate Aragorn's technique and soon realized that the best way to avoid the creatures was to decide on a new evasive maneuver each time one charged. However, because of this, Legolas felt himself tiring quicker.

The dwarves, unable to discover the orcs' pattern of attack, were soon brought down by the orcs. Over a dozen fell within the first minutes, forcing the second rank behind them to give way as the last of the orcs blocked the passage, trapping the dwarves in between two walls of their enemies.

Before long the defenders of the chamber's entrance were back to back with the dwarves battling Naraka; the orcs swarming around them, blocking them in firmly. Legolas' hand was still on his bow, but he could clearly see what an impossible situation it was. They were now surrounded and there was no way to escape, but still the elf would not give up hope.

Loosing an arrow at the now familiar open place in one orc's armor, he paid no heed to it's scream as it fell. A dwarf beside him cut one of the creatures in half, then swung at another, slashing it's back. But for every death amongst the enemy, there seemed to be a dozen more to take their places. 

Suddenly a voice spoke up from beside him. "Legolas! Look!" 

Legolas turned to where Aragorn was indicating, seeing them only a moment before the first volley of arrows brought the back row of orcs down. The creatures let out a yell of fury and turned on the attack— Nowin and his archers had arrived, and they had come prepared. Before leaving Bonfur's victory, they had first retrieved as many arrows as they could find and were now shooting them into orcs' rear, breaking a path through to Dorm.

The dwarf lord renewed his attack — his warriors charged, taking every advantage of the surprise reinforcements, and pulling Aragorn and Legolas forward with them. The elf gathered what few arrows he could that were undamaged and loosed them from his own bow, his quiver dangerously empty. Running close beside him, Aragorn smote an orc on the helm, cleaving partway through it's head, and moving on to drive the others back, away from the dwarves. 

Then above the tumult, amplified somehow, they heard Dorm's voice reverberate above all: "Prepare to burn their wicked feet my lads!" 

The Dúnadan turned, confused, but he was quickly wrenched back by Legolas who pulled him away just as a cauldron of molten metal was upturned. The fiery deluge spilled across the stone floor, flowing over the orcs and bitterly burning them. They let out howls and screams as they fell. Shifting back still further, the two friends watched from a safe distance away as the flickering torches of the orcs and dwarves were augmented by the red light of the flaming stream. Moving in, the dwarves quickly cooled the edges with water so as to not let it spread far, but it had been enough to eliminate quite few orcs and one of the humans.

Legolas turned to Aragorn, an almost amused look on his face. "They should have thought before they raided a smelting chamber." Aragorn nodded, staring around at the many orcs that had been killed, and making a face at the stench of burned orc flesh. "Come friend," Legolas motioned, "the battle is not won."

The orcs, now more angered than ever, leapt over the bodies of their fellow soldiers, their eyes blazing with hatred as the light flickered on their blades, but the dwarven warriors had found new reserves of strength. The ranger felt encouraged as the masses were equaled and the dwarves began to bring down each foe in turn, but something nagged at his mind. Something he felt sure he was forgetting. 

He was so set upon it that he did not hear the orc coming until it let out a howl of pain directly behind him. "Strider!" Legolas called as he rushed over to him — the dwarf warrior, now back to the battle, had only barely killed the creature before it had taken off Aragorn's head. "What are you standing around for?" The elf whirled to drive his blade into an orc just behind him. "You will be killed, human." 

Aragorn quickly brought his mind back to the present, impaling an orc in front of him on his sword, then doubling the blade back under his arm to stab one just behind him. But his eyes were still vaguely unfocused, "Something's wrong here Legolas."

"What?" Legolas looked at him carefully.

"Something I'm—" the ranger suddenly broke off. "The ceiling!" He cried out at the top of his voice. "Archers! The ceiling!" Legolas did not pause to question his friend. Reaching back, he pulled out an arrow and, catching sight of a black shadow above, he loosed the shaft at it's center. The orc let out a howl as it fell, dropping to the rock ground below.

The dwarves were quick: swinging their aim up almost in unison, the other archers let off a quick salvo, bringing down orcs like black rain. They had been preparing an ambush, as they had with Aragorn in Gundabad. One orc, seeing the crumbling of their attack, attempted to carry out their plan in part at least, dropping down purposefully towards the defenders below. Legolas' head was easy to pick out in the dim crowd. 

The elf was sighting for another orc further away and didn't see the black shape falling towards him, but Aragorn did. 

Bringing his sword up and level, he swept it over Legolas' head, bringing it so close that it brushed the elf's golden hair. But it was the orc that caught the full force of the steel blade and it fell to the ground beside Legolas, killed instantly. The ranger quickly pulled his sword away and Legolas glanced at him for a moment in a mixture of startlement and thanks. Aragorn was too busy to respond.

The orcs were now beginning to drop from many places across the ceiling, trying to fell at least a few dwarves, but their attempt to get the upper hand had only hampered their opportunity.

The dwarves were now stronger, and all they had to do was keep it this way till the end.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Naraka was furious. He had nearly overtaken the dwarves: he could have returned in victory and carried with him many dwarf slaves as well, but now, with the appearance of the archers, the tables had once again turned from his favor. Being so close to his forced entrance into the chamber he hadn't been able to distinguish why, but for some reason the orcs' ambush from the ceiling had been foiled as well. His lust for a kill was now greater than ever. Turning back to the tunnel he gestured abruptly to the troops of orcs he had held in reserve.

"Go now!" He called. "All of you, destroy every last one of them!" The orcs growled with pleasure and leapt from the cave, passing Naraka like a storm. The startled looks of the dwarves showed clearly as they realized that Naraka had been more prepared than they had thought.

The captain watched quietly for a time as his soldiers slammed into the ranks of the dwarves, their want for blood returning with a vengeance after their forced wait. Everywhere dwarves and orcs were locked in combat, fighting to an end they did not know, and in each battle one would always die. Naraka smiled finally in cruel pleasure as the tables slowly began to turn back once more.

As his eyes followed the battle line, he suddenly caught sight of something that made him stop all together. A small flicker of gold. His eyes followed the flicker as he tried to place it's origin — then, as an orc in his immediate view was cut down, he caught sight of his prey. The elf. 

"Strider!" The elf called across the chamber towards his friend, whom Naraka could not see — but it didn't matter, he cared not for the human, he only wanted the elf.

Abandoning his command post by the cave mouth he crept towards the creature, keeping it always in his line of sight.

"Your time has come, little one." Naraka whispered. "You cannot escape me here."

^^^^^^^^^^^

When the reinforcements of orcs came upon them, there was no warning; Legolas had not even been looking in the direction of the cave mouth. But once the charge had begun there were great cries of shock from the dwarves who were first cut down. All attention was called to this new threat and Legolas was just as stunned as the other warriors. Whoever was leading this particular unit of orcs was clever: he had sent but part of his troops out to fight the dwarves, keeping the rest back so as to overwhelm them in the end. His face grim, Legolas turned his full attention to the oncoming swarm as it began to work it's way through the gaps in the defender's ranks.

These orcs had a ruthless attack plan, dividing into groups and encircling only one or two dwarves at a time, they would overwhelm them, cutting them down from behind, trampling them beneath their feet, or merely smothering them by numbers. Legolas angrily sent his last three arrows into several such groups, hoping to set free the dwarves trapped inside, but there were too many enemies between the dwarves and safety.

Suddenly something made him turn. Some whisper of danger for him, or for someone else — then he realized what it was: Aragorn was no longer beside him. The ranger was gone, though he had only moments before been fighting by his side. 

"Strider!" Legolas called, his eyes turning in all directions, searching for his friend. 

It took only a few moments for his keen eyes to find the human, and fear spiked through him at what he saw. The young man was trapped within one of the circles of orcs, his sword up in an en garde position, his face set. 

Legolas reached instinctively over his shoulder to grab an arrow...only to remember that he had used the last. Frustrated with himself for being so careless he started to run to his friend's aid— His charge was stopped suddenly by a sword across his throat, seemingly appearing out of no where, and he was forced to stop short, his quick reflexes bringing him to a halt just as the weapon touched. Carefully he turned his head to look into the eyes of his attacker.

It was Captain Naraka.

****

TBC…

Evil, yes, and I'm afraid there's no excuse for us. *runs*


	20. Defeat in Victory

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Hey everyone!! Hannah (Siri) here!!! I am SO sorry it's taken so long to post!! I couldn't get on for a while and we got busy and--well I'm sure you know the story ;) Anyways, I've got a post for you now! First I'll respond to all this lovely feedback! :D

None (Julia): You DON'T like Captain Naraka??? Oh but why? ;)

Cheysuli (Or should I say: Nilad): Yes, his legs probably do still hurt to a certain degree (especially since he's been running on them) but by now he's gotten so many injuries that he just feels terrible in general and we don't need to go into detail ;) And as for the orcs dropping from the ceiling (and Aragorn's knowledge of it) this was in fact mentioned. When Aragorn was beat up by all the nasty orcs earlier on he had been using the torch up until one of the orcs climbed up on the ceiling and outwitted him by dropping down from above. Aragorn had remembered that technique and was therefore able to warn the others. (Ironically enough ;)

Enigma Jade: Oh dear…she's having a tantrum! Don't worry! We've got another post here! ;)

Carrie: *winces* Oops…sorry it umn…took longer…sorry again :D

RainyDayz: YIPES!! *Tries to hide behind Sarah*. She has a PAINTBALL GUN!! *runs*

Conn Js: Oh…I'm sorry you're losing sleep! *tries to look dignified* Well you can't exactly blame us, I mean it's stupid Naraka and his orc goons who are causing all the trouble! And Legolas and Aragorn will back me up on that right boys?? *takes one look at them and hops in, what she hopes, is out of arrow range* Oookay never mind =D

SpaceVixenX: SMELLING SALTS!!! ;) (Or I've heard athelas works ;)

sabercrazy: *eyes go wide* Oh my!! Our poor tension's in MAJOR trouble!!

Chloe: ……Chloe, you're strange. Completely, totally, with out a doubt, or second thought, Strange and there's nothing you can do about it. I'm sorry but that's the truth ;) Hee hee, yeah, right, Aragorn--saved the world, VEEERY funny, we all had a good laugh!! ;) Oh and I don't think Legolas HAS a computer ;) Just FYI :D

Ruth: Oh dear. *turns* Sarah I think we're in big trouble. I mean after all, how could I live without COOKIES ;) (har har ;)

Cassia: It's a wonder to me that you ever get logged in! ;) That's too bad it keeps giving you so much grief! Oh and we most certainly CAN blame this on you just watch: Ahem! I would like to go on record to say that the previous cliffy and/or horrid ending is completely and/or totally, the fault of and/or was caused by Cassia and/or Sio but likely Cassia ;) (there, I blamed it on you :D ) Actually, yes we are in the process of writing another long story but it's taking us a lot longer than this one. Still we ARE planning to finish it eventually, though I am not sure how long from now, and it will star our favorite boys again :D (of course ;)

Lina Skye: Umn…Lina, would it do any good at all to tell you that we need to have Aragorn uh *looks at Lina's glare* Oh…yeah right, I thought not………couldn't we just borrow him for a second??? PLEASE??? ;)

Ecri: Oh yes, we love them truly… I mean can't you tell???…well then take my word for it ;)

LittleFish: Hey with a title like: Death or Despair we don't exactly get to make up our minds ;) =D However I am fairly certain things will be worked out by the end…fairly certain anyway…well I'm kinda-sorta-a-little-bit-maybe-sure…but it's not entirely likely *grin* Well, I'm glad you're liking it! Yes we like to cause trouble for those two, but then, doesn't everyone?? ;) And besides they are so fun to pick on!! I really doubt they appreciate it though. *pauses then snatches back award* ;)

Thank you again for so much lovely feedback!! We really appreciate it!!

Onto the next chapter:

________________________________________________________________________ 

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 20

Defeat in Victory

Legolas let out a breath. He should have known it would be Naraka, that it would come to this — but right now he could not fight the man, right now his friend needed him. Naraka gave Legolas a forceful shove backwards, but the elf barely stumbled. With a swift movement he had pulled a knife from where it was strapped to his back.

There was a ringing clang as Naraka brought his sword up and the two blades met near the hilts: the elf giving full attack at close quarters and driving the man back with quick parries before they could draw apart far enough for the shortness of his blade to tell against him. Seeing an opening, he whirled in a tight half circle, trying to pull around the captain, but Naraka would not let his prey escape him. With a harsh kick to the elf's midsection he sent Legolas tumbling back, clearing the thick of the battle and landing near the base of the wall. The prince exhaled hard as a rock dug into his back, but rolled forward again, and Naraka leapt at him only to be met by the elf's weapon.

Legolas got up slowly, battling the spikes of pain that were tingling through his nervous system, and backing slightly, trying to get more room and catch his breath. Not wanting to give him that time, Naraka slammed his sword down beside Legolas' head, and even as the elf moved to the side, he smashed a mail covered fist into the prince's stomach. Legolas' cry was quenched as the air left him in one gush — he slumped to the ground, already badly bruised. Naraka was stronger than Legolas had known and he had an unpleasant feeling he had only seen the beginning the captain's rage. Gazing without seeing at the dust-covered stones next to his face, his body curled in as he tried to inhale properly, he suddenly heard someone give a cry; near but somehow sounding very far away.

"Strider." Legolas whispered as Naraka brought his weapon to fall on the elf's neck, but the elf was far from giving up. 

Rolling aside, he dragged himself to his feet in the same motion, his breathing still uneven as he caught Naraka across the arm with his blade and kicked out, causing the man to stumble back. Legolas pushed his advantage and drove the man back further, but Naraka was not one to be outwitted easily and he quickly regained his footing: slashing in return at the elf, forcing him to defend himself rather than leave, and dragging the fatal combat on.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Aragorn had received no warning of the orcs' coming, and when they had surrounded him it had been like a familiar nightmare, a horrible occurrence he could not control. Abandoning their latest prey — five dwarves, now dead — they eased around and through the chaos to block him in and take him down.

The ranger brought up his sword; this time the orcs had not the advantage over him. By some cruel twist of irony, Rigrak appeared to be leading the contingent of monsters and Aragorn leveled his sword first at the larger orc. This time he had a weapon and he would not be nearly vulnerable. 

As he had expected the orcs decided to toy with him — they had no reason to keep him alive this time, but no matter what sort of orders Furnmorth had given his troops regarding the quick dispatching of the defenders, it hardly mattered. They wished to enjoy their kills and their twisted minds would have it no other way.

Aragorn slashed at the first orc who ventured near him, but the creature had been expecting that and swung to the side, cutting his scimitar at Aragorn's head. The ranger felt a strange, cold sensation wash over him when he realized that this scimitar, like many of the others being used to massacre the dwarves, had been made by him. It made him all the more wish to end this.

A few more orcs tried to take him down on their own, but when it became clear that the human was not going to let them get anywhere close, they charged him at once, no longer interested in playing. Two sinewy arms wrapped around him from behind and he turned quickly enough to stab it before another dove for his chest. By the time he threw this one off as well, the first had already regained both it's feet and it's grip and drove it's dagger hard into Aragorn's shoulder, just below his original wound. The ranger let out a pained cry and stumbled forward, going to his knees when Ragrak's heavy hand slammed him hard in the back of the head. The human tried to struggle away, but he was grabbed and held down as the ugly creature above him brought his sword down to remove Aragorn's head. 

A piercing shriek caused the group to turn sharply, in time to see the leftmost of their company fall, an arrow embedded in it's throat. Two others fell similarly. And that was when Aragorn's rescuers charged. Six dwarves had detached from the fight and begun to take down orc after orc — the contingent had been too occupied with Aragorn to realize that they were being surrounded at the same time. As one of the orcs holding Aragorn fell, the ranger sprang up and cut down the other, lunging forward to stab Ragrak in the chest. The orc lashed out one last time, trying to catch Aragorn in the face, but Aragorn pulled away too fast, taking his sword with him and leaving the orc dead. The dwarves dispatched the last of the orcs with a sort of grim satisfaction and he turned to the one at their head.

"Thank you, friend." 

"Our pleasure, human." Nowin grunted, already returning to the battle.

The Dúnadan turned; now that he was free of this trap he had to find Legolas. His eyes darted around the chamber, but the blurred motions of the many dwarf and orc warriors distorted his vision and he could not see the elf. At last he sighted him, against the far wall — 

Aragorn did not wait another moment, but charged across the chamber, to the aid of his friend.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Legolas slashed at Naraka's sword arm, barely grazing it as the captain jerked to the side, landing a blow on Legolas' shoulder. The elf let out a hiss of breath, but did not have time to absorb the pain: he was already moving. And his frustration was beginning to mount. He could not fathom what he would do if he arrived too late — if Aragorn died because he was not there. Spinning towards the man again, he tried desperately to get past him.

"You want to save him," Naraka sneered, "don't you?"

Legolas pushed forward trying to take advantage of Naraka's slight distraction, but the captain was too alert for that, and he knocked Legolas back into the wall just behind him, the sneer still on his face.

"Do not even bother — he's dead by now." The words came with such cold certainty that Legolas felt something in him snap. He lunged forward with every intention of taking Naraka down bodily in that very charge, but his inattention to all around him caused him to miss the orc who tried to rush him from the battle. The elf saw the orc at the last minute and stumbled backwards, but this stumble was enough for Naraka. Pushing the orc aside, he forcefully knocked his sword hilt into Legolas' wrist. The dagger clattered to the floor and Legolas gasped as the iron pommel dug into his skin. 

In a strange replay of the past, Naraka once more grabbed up a fist full of Legolas' hair and dragged the elf before him to the rock wall, pressing him back against it. There was no way Legolas could escape the man and his other dagger was now trapped and useless. 

Naraka pressed his own sword against Legolas' throat. "No cutting yourself free this time, elf. You are mine." Legolas did not flinch, but faced the captain boldly, defying the man's evil with a shimmering valiance in his gray eyes. Naraka jeered disgustedly; he would take great pleasure in seeing those eyes clouded in death. He jammed his weapon in sharply, causing the elf to wince as the cold steel bit into his flesh. 

"What did I ever do to you, Naraka?" Legolas asked softly with the last of his breath, his eyes searching those of the captain.

"Why does it matter?" Naraka returned. "You're going to die."

Suddenly, and seemingly from no where, a figure came flying towards them and slammed into the captain, knocking him off balance. The man turned angrily to the intruder, and, raising his sword hand again, he cracked the hilt harshly against Aragorn's chest, knocking the young ranger sideways into the wall. The impact caused the ranger to flicker out cold for a brief moment before consciousness returned and he struggled up again. 

Naraka was thoroughly weary of this young human ruining his plans, and interfering with his lust for blood. Turning away from the elf he raised his sword: he would finish this *child* once and for all.

This however was a grave mistake. As Furnmorth had always known, Naraka was unstable to the point of foolishness when he was personally provoked, and turning away from Legolas was the foundation of his own death.

Jerking forwards, Legolas retrieved his own dagger, sharply wrenching it from it's sheath. Naraka's sword was but a hair's breadth from Aragorn's head when Legolas dagger was driven into his back. 

The man did not make a sound as he stumbled away from Aragorn, his grip on Legolas' hair tightening reflexively as he turned wide, shocked eyes on the elf. For a moment the two eyes locked, then the captain let out a choked gag as he breathed his last. Sinking to the ground he dragged Legolas down with him and with a last hoarse whisper of air, the man was gone. 

Legolas inhaled unevenly, for a moment unable to move. The next thing he felt was Aragorn's hands gently prying Naraka's cold fingers from his hair. Legolas turned to look at the young human and could easily see that his friend was bleeding badly from a shoulder wound, but the prince knew he too was not in much better shape. Aragorn carefully laid Legolas' hair over the elf's shoulder and looked into his eyes.

"Are you well my friend?" He asked softly.

"I am well," Legolas replied lightly. "Though I would ask you the same."

Aragorn glanced around: though still raging like the tide against the shore, the battle was obviously drawing to it's close.

"I will be well when it is finished." The human replied quietly. 

Legolas carefully removed the dagger from Naraka's back and retrieved his other, rising to his feet. 

"Then let us finish it."

Aragorn nodded and stood, drawing out his sword, and he coming up beside the elf. Together they turned away, springing into the struggle once more, and leaving the still form of the captain where it lay. Naraka: ambitious, cruel, jealous, violent — and ultimately: his own bane. 

^^^^^^^^^^^ 

The battle wore on for many an hour. Though leaderless, the orcs continued to fight on their own strength, coming at the defenders again and again, heedless of danger. But it soon became clear that they would not walk away in victory, if they were capable of walking away at all. The dwarves were leaving no orc alive — covering the cavern floor with their hideous corpses and staining the floors black.

Aragorn and Legolas stayed always side by side, fighting back the enemy and cutting down every orc that came close. The elf had obtained a fresh quiver of arrows from Nowin and now he was able to join the archers. By the time Thúril and Bonfur arrived with their dwarves, the battle was nearly won. The orcs had no chance against an army of this magnitude and they were soon destroyed. Not one remained alive of Naraka's army.

Dorm raised his bloodied axe in triumph, his voice rumbling across the chamber, "Gilthad!"

"Gilthad!" The rest echoed, their voices resonating through the halls of the great mountain and reverberating back to them. 

As the dwarves turned to congratulate one another and celebrate their victory, Aragorn and Legolas stood quietly by and watched them. Both elf and human were slumped with weariness, each having sustained many wounds in the fight, and Aragorn exhaled slowly as he surveyed the room. Everywhere the bodies of orcs and dwarves were strewn as chaff in a strong wind, piled thickly in the middle and filling the blocked tunnel that led back to Gundabad. Legolas turned to look at his friend, his eyes filled with sorrow and a faint disbelief.

"Such a waste." 

Aragorn wrapped an arm around his shoulder where he had been stabbed. "It was all a waste from the very beginning."

Legolas nodded silently. 

"Furnmorth made a terrible mistake when he took us." Aragorn observed. "When he took Kelegalen, when he took Nethtalt — he did not realize that though most would simply bow to his wishes and stay confined within his will, that did not mean everyone would. In all his careful planning, he never took hope into account."

"A point we would do well to remember." Legolas murmured, watching as the dwarves began to move through the chamber, searching for survivors. "It is ever the way of living things, immortal as well as mortal, to forget such notions as hope when we have the most need of them. Helkhmorn denied it's existence, Bronadui denied his need for it, and Stavhold had not the courage to hold onto it and make something of it."

"I wonder if we will ever see any of them again." Aragorn pondered quietly. "I should have wished to know how they fared, especially Kelegalen."

"Aye," the elf agreed, "and Nethtalt. I, at least, was not able to thank them for assisting in the escape plan." These words seemed to put Legolas in mind of something and he turned full to face the human. "Aragorn, can you forgive me for—"

The young ranger was obviously anticipating the words, for he cut them off before they were completely out. "Legolas, it was I, you will remember, that made you swear that you would continue on even if you were alone."

"It was I who made you swear it first." Legolas recalled, a mirthless smile on his face. "I had no idea it would be you."

"Nor did I, honestly," Aragorn smiled slightly, "but I suppose it was for the best. I never could have made it through the snow of these mountains with such ease as you, especially with Naraka and his trackers so close behind."

"I could have used you in trying to convince the dwarves, though." Legolas muttered, a note of annoyance in his voice.

"Gave you some trouble, did they?" Aragorn not bothering to conceal the undertone of amusement in his voice.

"They could not seem to decide whether to believe me or behead me." Legolas replied matter-of-factly. "Though I do not suppose I got along with them any better, for that matter."

"Legolas Greenleaf," Aragorn shook his head with laughter, "I dearly hope to be there the day you find a dwarf with whom you *do* get along!"

"It is likely to be the same day I wish to enter a cave on my own free will."

Aragorn chuckled, bemoaning lightly, "Alas, I fear the day will never come."

****

TBC…


	21. Life and Hope

****

*Hannah (Siri) carefully peeks from behind curtain*

Umn…heheh…sorry this is so late! I got a little busy lately and now it's umn…a little late…ahem…anyway sorry about that :D 

Thank you SO much for all the lovely feedback!! Sarah and I REALLY appreciate it!!

HaloGatomon: Yes *sigh* I'm afraid those two attract trouble like magnets, I'm not sure where along the line that started, but it probably had something to do with Cassia and Siobhan *smiles innocently*

Chloe: Oh my Chloe…must you kill all our already dead bad guys??? I would think they were dead enough! :p Oooooh, Advil…I'm sure they appreciate that ;) Poor guys, getting beat up by nasty author's all day with never a moments peace…yes well… ahem…

Lina Skye: Oh dear…umn…Lina, you know I think your baby will be fine now…I'm pretty sure…anyway can I have him back now?? He's supposed to be in this next post!! =D

sabercrazy: *grabs lamp as sabercrazy knocks it from table* Oh dear. Well I think the tension has broken for now. :D

Conn Js: Thank you!! *blush* To be truthful I was not at all confident about my abilities to write battles. As my 'wonderful' sister Sarah *glares* made me write almost all of the battles by myself! YOU'RE DOING UM NEXT TIME SARAH!! ;) I'm glad you enjoyed them!!

RainyDayz: *takes Paintball gun* Oh um…thank you ;) I'm not sure what to say :D I'm glad you liked the final battle though!! It was quite a pleasure to see Naraka go ;)

Littlefish: WoW! Thank you!! Oh yes, we're feeling all right, but as we are drawing near to the closing of this story we decided to be nice and (sort of) give the boys a break ;)

Tom Starry: *laughs* Oh yeah, sorry about that cliffy, Sarah predicted that some people wouldn't be too umn…pleased with it ;) Yes, we are planning to write another story after this one, but it may be a couple months before it's up *sigh* sadly we have not gotten too far along on it. Though we do have a small preview for it at the end of this story. : )

Carrie: Yup, 'nother, longer story! ;) Aren't we crazy?! *grins wickedly* But as I told Tom Starry, it'll be a little while. : ( As for Kelegalen and Nethtalt…well keep reading :D

Cassia: Wasn't gonna say a word :D Yes well, as to the title, Sarah and I knew that it hadn't been a complete victory with all those dead…so we made it a little less cheery…Oh! Glad you liked the fight scenes, yes, I'm glad to see Naraka dead too!

Yes, the reference to Gimli we just couldn't help inserting! I mean, we could hardly put him in a situations with temperamental dwarves and NOT mention it ;) I'm glad everyone found it amusing =D

Just to let you know we have only one more chapter after this one, and then our loooooooong tale will come to an end!! : ( 

Here we go:

________________________________________________________________________

^^^^^^^^^^^

Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

^^^^^^^^^^^

****

Chapter 21

Life and Hope

The next few days were ones of recovery: for the halls of Gilthad and the wounds of the ones who had fought. The end toll of those of the dwarves dead was not known to Aragorn and Legolas, but they did find that Moín was among them. He had fallen near the exit of the chamber, whether making an escape, or at last trying to collapse the entrance, they would never know. There was also work to be done throughout the mountain itself as the dwarves set about tracking down the orcs that had managed to escape into Gilthad and were running wild through the halls, no doubt looking for a means of escape. 

Many dwarves were buried soon after and though Legolas and Aragorn were not invited, they watched from a distance as the dwarves lowered their many fallen comrades into the earth from whence they had come.

Due to the many injuries the two friends had sustained of their own — each having lost blood from small wounds as well as serious — neither felt like moving around much. During these days Aragorn and Legolas also exchanged stories of what had happened when they parted. Legolas' heart burned angrily at hearing the way his friend had been treated, and at Naraka's lie about the elf's death, but the ranger did not seemed bothered by the physical injuries done him, now that they were in the past.

"So Furnmorth is dead." Legolas said quietly when Aragorn had finished. He and the human were sitting in Legolas' claimed guard room, quietly re-bandaging each other's wounds.

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, tightly tying off a bandage on Legolas' right forearm. "And Naraka with him. Their own evil and weakness destroyed them."

"It is the path of many evil ones." Legolas agreed. "Though I believe Furnmorth could have done great damage had his plan not been thwarted. His mind was set upon victory and his actions spoke clearly of his capabilities. I believe he truly could have defeated us and destroyed Mirkwood, had he been allowed to get that far." 

There was a silent moment, both friends feeling true relief, a sensation they had not felt in a long time. The silence was broken by a slight unintended groan from Leoglas as Aragorn cleansed his shoulder wound once more.

"I only hope now that Lord Elrond will not see us like this." The elf murmured as Aragorn began to wrap the bandage. 

The young ranger laughed. "Perhaps if we tarry a few days longer he will not." 

"Nay, I fear we must return." Legolas sighed. "Unfortunately we have been absent a good deal longer than we had originally intended."

"I am beginning to wonder: are we incapable of making a straight journey from one home to the other?" Aragorn asked, mirth in his eyes.

"It is a perilous road we walk." Legolas agreed, suppressing another groan. "And the road between our homes is too long; we cannot be expected to keep out of trouble for such an extended period of time." 

Aragorn gave a resigned sigh, "We are forever doomed to be in mortal danger."

There was a sound in the passage, alerting them to the presence of another. Aragorn turned, his hand instantly going to his dagger, thinking for a moment that one of the renegade orcs was attempting to find an exit. In another moment it proved to be Nowin.

The young dwarf barely gave Legolas a nod before turning to Aragorn. "Strider," he began, using the name Aragorn had given the dwarves, "I just wanted to let you know where things stand."

"Thank you for coming Nowin," Aragorn smiled. Legolas was, predictably, glowering at the dwarf, though like all things the elf felt, it was very well covered by careful façade which was supposed to serve as an attentive stare.

"We have tracked down near all the orcs, but I do believe there are others roaming about. All our comrades have now been buried and we have nearly cleared out all the cluttered chambers if you take my meaning. We're working on the damage now, but it'll take some doing to fix those gaping holes in the walls."

"You may well wish to leave them," Aragorn suggested.

"There is good news though!" The dwarf exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh?" Aragorn frowned. "What?"

"One of the mining tunnels has opened a vein of gold that we had not before seen!"

The human didn't miss Legolas' reaction when the elf rolled his eyes at these words, and he smiled lightly at his friend, who decided to ignore the ranger.

"I am truly glad that your people will still prosper even in spite of the difficulties this has caused."

Nowin bowed to him with a smile, then surprised both friends greatly by suddenly turning to Legolas. "Elf," he said simply.

"Yes, *dwarf*?" Legolas returned, his voice surprisingly polite considering he had only mentioned the dwarf's kind as a retort. 

"We found this on one of the dead human's bodies and we were sure it belonged to you." Aragorn stiffened slightly as the dwarf dropped a handful of hastily cut golden hair before the elf. Nowin did not notice the reaction of either friend and simply bowed to Aragorn with a smile.

"I hope our paths may cross again, Ranger."

"As do I, Nowin." The dwarf left the room and the two friends sat alone. After a moment Legolas gently lifted the hair from where it had fallen, and Aragorn stared at it, saying not a word.

"Naraka?" Legolas questioned softly and the ranger nodded, trying hard not to think of how he had felt when he'd first seen that hair strapped to Naraka's belt like a trophy. Legolas moved from a sitting position to one of kneeling and moved to face the Dúnadan. Placing one slender hand on his friend's shoulder, he waited for the young man to look at him, and after a long moment, Aragorn turned his blue eyes up to meet Legolas' gray ones. There was pain flickering there: a deep hurting that the human had suffered for so long that it had seemingly left an imprint on him, haunting him and flickering behind his eyes. Aragorn dropped his gaze suddenly.

"I—I'm sorry—" 

Legolas placed a hand gently over Aragorn's mouth, silencing him.

"Be not sorry, my friend. I am deeply sorry myself that you were hurt in this way. I understand that I cannot change it...but I am here now." Legolas gently touched the ranger's face redirecting the human's attention back to himself. "I'm right here."

Aragorn nodded and Legolas was pleased to see the haunting in his eyes fade, as if a breeze had lifted it from him and blown it away. Carefully Aragorn reached out and grasped Legolas' uninjured forearm, lightly squeezing it he reassured himself that he was no longer alone, that his friend *was* before him. Then he smiled, and it was so unexpected that Legolas smiled as well.

The two companions fell asleep with their backs up against the rock walls of the room; they had become accustomed to this form of sleeping and it was a choice born out of habit more than anything else.

Legolas drifted in and out, feeling no real fatigue to keep him contently in slumber. He glanced over at the young ranger sleeping across from him and Aragorn's steady breathing filled his ears. There were no hitches from deep pain or quickened spells from extreme heat, he was simply resting peacefully. Legolas turned his eyes to the fire that burned nearby, warming the room comfortably, in spite of the closeness to the mountain's entrance and the cold wind outside. In his hands he gently fingered his own hair, the hair Naraka had taken. For a while he simply stared into the flames and meditated on all that had happened, on all the horrible things Naraka had done. To him, to Stavhold, to Nethtalt, to Diinen, and to Aragorn. Anger over what his friends had suffered welled up within him—

Shaking his head suddenly as though to clear it, the elf leaned towards the fire. Naraka was dead now, and his evil had died with him. With a short motion, Legolas tossed the hair into the flames, watching as the fire licked at it for a time, and then melted the blonde strands to nothing. Staring at the flames and the slowly burning embers, Legolas soon drifted into a peaceful sleep.

^^^^^^^^^^^

It was not long after waking that the two friends were prepared to leave on their journey. The dwarves had provided them with food and drink for the journey, as well as several well meant gifts to the two for their assistance in the battle. Though Legolas was not sure what he would use a dwarven made hunting knife for now that he would be able to replace his old elven ones, Aragorn was proud of his friend for accepting graciously and not speaking a negative word.

The two friends left the gates of mountain, waving a final farewell to the dwarves before setting up from the gorge back to level ground. Legolas could remember not two weeks ago falling down this same cliff edge and landing in the middle of Moín's watch — it seemed long in the past now.

Legolas chose their course down the mountain: he knew some about the terrain and had a fairly easy time finding a path that appeared simple enough to traverse. They had just started down the chosen route when suddenly Legolas stopped short.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, turning. 

"Do you not hear that?" Legolas questioned, silencing his own voice and seemingly his breathing as well. Aragorn's sharp ears soon picked out the sound: footfalls close by them.

The elf and ranger melded back into the stunted trees directly to their right and waited for whoever was coming to pass. 

Before long voices accompanied the footfalls, and though Legolas heard their sounds first, they were downwind and the voice traveled right to them, allowing Aragorn could make out much.

"I don't understand why he shouldn't have returned."

"Well, we could find no trace of him." 

"Maybe he just got lost."

"It is possible."

"Strider went through the tunnel. Don't you think he will just take the tunnel back to Gundabad?"

"Nay, for it has been blocked off. Strider is likely to be taking this route back."

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a quick glance before both broke cover and ran towards the two, Aragorn in lead. Kelegalen saw them first, and with a quick motion, he pushed young Nethtalt behind him and pulled out his sword, but in another moment he smiled and sheathed it.

"Why, Strider we were just—" Kelegalen cut off sharply, his eyes turning to the elf just behind Aragorn.

"Legolas!" Nethtalt exclaimed.

"You are alive!" Kelegalen was equally surprised, but clearly pleased. "I am truly joyous to see you so, Legolas." 

The prince smiled as he came up beside Aragorn. "Thank you Kelegalen, it is good to see you as well. Hello Nethtalt." He sent his smile towards the boy and received another in kind.

"We were just searching for Strider," Kelegalen explained.

"So we heard," Aragorn was smiling as well. "It is well met, Kelegalen of Rohan. What tidings of Gundabad?"

"It has fallen." Kelegalen replied. "We began an uprising as you advised, Strider, and managed to over power the guards. With Furnmorth dead they were not able to oppose so many, though there was a vicious battle and in the end we lost many. Including Helkhmorn." He finished softly.

Aragorn let out a breath and shook his head. "I feared he was doomed to fall from the start. He had no will left in him to fight."

"Yes," Kelegalen agreed sadly. "The slaves have now dispersed and are returning to their homes in hopes of piecing their lives together again."

"And now where are you bound?" Legolas asked, looking at the two in question. Kelegalen smiled and put and arm across Nethtalt's shoulders.

"*We* are to Rohan." Kelegalen replied. "Since his father has passed I am taking Nethtalt with me. We were only intending to be sure that Strider had escaped before we departed." Aragorn knelt by Nethtalt a smile clear on his face.

"So you have a father once again Nethtalt," he murmured. "It is a wonderful thing to have a family." Knowing eyes looked earnestly into the boy's and Nethalt nodded.

"I am happy," he confided, hugging Aragorn upon impulse. Aragorn embraced the boy tightly before releasing him.

"I am glad, Nethtalt." Aragorn rose and turned to Kelegalen. "Would you travel with us until we must separate, friend?"

"Indeed we would be glad of company," Kelegalen agreed.

"And we can acquaint you with all that has transpired in Gilthad," Legolas added. "There is much to tell."

"We would be glad to hear it!"

The four started down the hill side: a ranger, an elf, a man of Rohan and a boy; no longer slaves, and at last able to walk freely under the warm sun and deep blue sky.

^^^^^^^^^^^

At last they were forced to part. They reached the edge of the Grey Mountains and it was time for half their company to turn towards Rohan and the other half towards the lands of the elves.

"It has been our pleasure to meet you both," Legolas smiled at Nethtalt and clasped Kelegalen's hand firmly.

"May it be our fortune to cross paths once again." Aragorn said, also clasping hands with Kelegalen.

"I hope so, my friend." 

When Kelegalen and Nethtalt had turned away, Aragorn and Legolas stood for a moment staring out across the plains they would need to cross.

"We're returning home." Legolas said, though he needn't have. Aragorn was thinking of the same thing.

"I have long missed it." Aragorn murmured.

"As have I." Legolas agreed, staring out across the plains and shading his eyes from the sun.

After a moment the two began to walk. Without a further word or any further decision they began to trek towards the start of their unintended departure: the place where the corsairs had found them so long ago. And from there they would at last return to their homes.

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TBC…


	22. Entulesse: The Return

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*Hannah (Siri) pokes head out from behind Sarah* Oh…you're all still here?? Oh…umn…sorry I haven't posted yet, but I've been really really busy and--uh, anyway I have a post for you!! =D (so could you maybe not kill me??) Oh thanks! :D

Oh thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback!!!

HaloGatomon: Oh! I'm glad you liked that! *hands Halo whole box of tissue* Here you can just have this : )

Chloe: Hey! Chloe you can't have Kelegalen!! No no no! Give me Nethtalt back!! I NEEEEED them!!! *yanks characters back, breaths heavily* Thank you! 

Hey, I resent the implications that *I* am a pyro-maniac! I'll have you know that that whole deal with the hair and the candle was NOT my fault! ;) 

Princess_Leia (and Plushie): Oh, I'm glad you've liked it! We certainly liked having you!!

Lina Skye: Oh dear. Umn Lina, couldn't we just have him for this chapter?? Just one more chapter!! Come on, please?? Come on!! Drop him Lina! Drop him!! Ow…never mind, fine, you can *walk* with him, but he needs to head back home now!! :D

Conn Js: I'm glad you've enjoyed our mad 'little' fic :D Not much left to tell, but Sarah really wanted to have this last chapter so I hope you enjoy it! :D

sabercrazy: *laughs* Are we getting THAT predictable?? =D Don't worry! They'll probably make it through one more chapter!! …this time ;)

Pheonixqueen: *smiles* Oh! I'm glad you liked our story! And my sister Chloe's story too!! Yes, I'd give Cassia and Sio first place EVERY TIME!! I don't blame you at all : ) Oh yes, I really like to do covers for stories, I've got a very low quality photo editing program, but it serves me well!! =D I'm glad you enjoyed them : )

None (Julia): We have ONE more post!! : )

San: Woah!! You just read the whole thing?? Amazing!! I'm glad you liked it!! Actually the Corsairs were not our creation but Tolkien's we just used them : ) Though we are actually fans of Brian Jacques work I'm not sure that it influences our stories much, however it is an interesting observation! =D

Tom Starry: Well of COURSE it took a long time! If it was EASY where would be the fun in that? ;) 

LittleFish: *smiles innocently* MAYBE there WILL be another one :D …sometime ;) I'm glad you liked their friendship! We very much enjoyed writing it : ) Yes, we were far too attached to our original characters to not resolve their story : )

Thank you SO much for all the encouraging feedback throughout our story! You really make us feel like we succeeded! 

Stay tuned after the 'show' for 'production notes' and a suspicious looking preview for…something ;) 

THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH!!! 

Once again!

And now for the LAST CHAPTER!!! =D

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Death or Despair

By Sarah and Hannah

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries 

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 22

Entulesse: The Return

Breaking camp, the two friends stood for a minute looking at each other. They were largely healed of their injuries, though both were thinner and paler looking, their clothing was in sorry condition, and one or two bandages still remained to cover their more serious hurts. Aragorn cast a glance both eastward and westward, then finally spoke, "We will go to Mirkwood first. Your father will be worried for you and it is closest to us from here."

Legolas sighed; they had been arguing over this ever since leaving Kelegalen and Nethtalt. "No, Aragorn, you told your father you would return over two months ago. We will continue our original journey to Rivendell, and I will return home from there."

Aragorn hefted his pack with a little more force than necessary, "Do you believe I will allow your father and friends to loose sleep from worrying over your absence?"

"Do you believe I will allow the same fate for your father and brothers?" The elf countered evenly, gracefully lifting his own pack and arching his eyebrows.

There was a silence, and finally the ranger let out a low breath, "Maybe we should simply split up, thereby both arriving home within a few weeks at the very most."

Legolas glanced around at the wide, grass and shrub covered hills, remembering the last time they had both stood here. Mere months ago it may have been, many years ago it might now seem, but nonetheless vivid were the memories. He shook his head, "I cannot simply leave you. What if something further occurs on your road home?"

"Don't you think me capable of looking after myself?" Aragorn asked dryly.

"No."

Aragorn glared at the elf, but there was no real anger there. He understood the elf's worries: they were his own, only reversed. "Very well, then, you shall accompany me."

The elf nodded in relief.

"And as I am going first to Mirkwood before returning home, I suppose you will have to come along." Without pausing to see his friend's reaction, Aragorn started off through the grass.

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By the evening of the next day, Aragorn could actually see the very place where he had waited for Legolas to track him. The large rock had not changed, though the ranger who now returned to it had.

"Aragorn, there is a horse standing by the stone," Legolas said suddenly, his keen eyes seeing what Aragorn had only perceived to be a faint discoloration in the rock.

Instantly on the alert, Aragorn stooped into the grass at the same time as his friend, disappearing from the view of all but a bird flying overhead. "Shall we skirt around them entirely, or go closer and try to discover where they are from?"

"Let us go closer. If we keep low, we will not be noticed."

Sliding silently through the waving grasses, the crept towards the rock, the wind covering their smell from the horse. Easing their way around the far side of the stone, they remained hidden in the shadows as they surveyed the small camp in front of them. There was quiet for a long time, the two occupants of the camp and the second horse sensing nothing, until suddenly Aragorn spoke:

"And how long did it take before you became worried enough to follow after me?"

With a cry that was equal parts joy and startlement, Elladan and Elrohir rose to meet them, embracing the ranger and the elf with wonder, and for a time forgetting to ask where they had disappeared to.

As Aragorn had known, it couldn't last.

"Where have you been, Estel? You were expected at Rivendell seventy-eight days ago!"

"Father said you were probably exercising your independence and had remained in Mirkwood, but Elladan felt you would not be so careless with your actions and would have at least sent word."

"We set out to look for you nigh on seven weeks ago, but were told by Kind Thranduil that you and Legolas had long since left for home, and indeed, Legolas had not returned yet himself, though he had only planned to travel with you as far as the High Pass."

"Your trail took us farther south than we had expected and we counted over forty stripped wolf corpses around what appeared to be your camp, but though we found two dead men also, and many broken Silvan arrows, we could find no trace of you. We were just following a second trail of yours, Estel, when it became too dark to see anymore and we were forced to camp."

Legolas, as usual, was thoroughly enjoying Aragorn's near lecture at the hands of his overly protective brothers, and couldn't help but ask, "Why did you not assume that either of the dead men were Aragorn?"

Elladan stooped to retrieve something from his pack, "One was too short, and the other had been killed by this." He produced one of Legolas' elven daggers.

Elrohir, even fresh from his worry, couldn't resist adding, "We considered the possibility that he had at last troubled you beyond endurance, but decided that if he had, you would not have bothered to leave the knife behind."

Aragorn tried out a glare on his brothers, as equally unsuccessful as his one to Legolas, but he was too pleased to be in their company once more to protest over anything that they said. In the end, he settled for a chuckle.

"What *did* happen?" Elladan pressed, his eyes concerned, "You look even more dreadful than usual, and do not tell me it took you all this time to travel only this far." He was clearly determined to get an answer.

Aragorn glanced at Legolas, who returned the look. The dark memories still hung heavily over the both of them, and would likely remain with them for the rest of their days. It was not something they wanted to relive just now. Finally, "It is a tale that should probably wait for daylight before it is told. Until then, it should suffice to say…" He looked at Legolas again, hunting for a quick answer. The elf supplied one.

"We took a detour to study iron work and visit the dwarves."

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End

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A few last things: Sarah here! In keeping with the Tolkien tradition of including at the end of a story far more information concerning it than you really wanted to know, we thought you might be interested in seeing a little behind-the-scenes stuff on everyone's names. Most of them are Sindarin, and so have meanings that often give away some of their character. ;)

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Kelegalen (swift green) | This is one of the few we used where you can actually imagine a mother in Rohan naming her son that way. It may be a bit of a mouthful, but it's got their nationality written all over it.

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Nethtalt (young insecure) | Let's just hope Nethtalt never grows up, or anything, cause if he does, he'll be in big trouble…

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Diinen (silent) | Yup.

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Stavhold and Bronadui | Two of the few exceptions (where the humans were concerned) in the whole 'the names have to *mean* something' rule. When Hannah suggested them, they were just too good to leave out because of a technicality.

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Helkhmorn (bitter dark) | We would have just called him 'Helkh' (bitter), but it sounded like someone choking.

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Seregoer (blood sea) | As a corsair captain, it seemed fitting, if a little gross.

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Lhimlug (sea serpent) | Ditto for a corsair ship.

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Oeruil (seaweed) | This one was, admittedly, more of a joke, though it *did* end up sounding good.

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Lord Furnmorth (hidden darkness) | More than one idea was suggested and discarded for him, and even the one we picked took a little getting used to.

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Captain Naraka (harsh/violent) | Just so long as we didn't think 'maraca', this was an easy one.

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Balkhfiren (cruel human) | This was originally one of our ideas for Furnmorth, but we decided it was too harsh for the sort of suave, intelligent villain that Furnmorth was supposed to be.

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Orkhalla (superior) | Another joke: Orkhalla was created solely to give Legolas someone to accidentally kill in one scene. This 'superior' guy lasted a grand total of one and a half pages.

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Agarwaen (blood stained) | The rest of the villains didn't get a whole lot of thought, but were merely tagged with the first macabre label we could think of.

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Mekhor (bloodiness) | See above

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Guruthos (death horror) | See above

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Dorm, son of Damrod, son of Dren | We're pretty sure that Damrod means 'Hammerer of Copper', but we aren't positive, and Dorm and Dren came straight out of our heads (see below)

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Moín, Bonfur, Nowin, Glor, Frói, Óen, Thúril, Frerin, Orin, Roden, Nori, Bern, Funmar, Rundin, Gruri, Dorin | The dwarf names don't actually have any meanings. Some, like Nori, were reused from the books (since Tolkien himself wasn't above having two 'Oin's in the course of his tales), some, like Bonfur, were constructed from pieces of original names (Bombur, Bifur), and others were the result of us needing a new dwarf and saying, "How about Roden! Roden sounds like a good dwarvish name."

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Thilwum (evil sickness) | The name of the illness that took Kelegalen's family: aren't we brilliant?

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Gilthad (metal, white) | Actually, it's 'giltha', but we fudged it a bit because 'giltha' sounded a little too elvish for a mountain inhabited by dwarves.

Fladweth (green area of land) | It sounded like a nice place to farm in, and we needed a name for Diinen and Nethtalt's home, so...

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Ered Ladin (level mountain) | An outright contradiction. Hey, sometimes realism gets tiring! And actually, the translation can also mean 'equable mountain', but since Bronadui isn't exactly a main character, what his fictional home-town is really called doesn't make a whole lot of difference.

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Gundabad | I include this one merely to state that Gundabad is, in fact, *not ours*! It is a real place on Tolkien's map, between the Grey Mountains and the Misty Mountains, and was really inhabited by orcs once, as the Grey Mountains themselves were once inhabited by dwarves (though Gilthad does not exist in Tolkien's world). By the time we had Furnmorth move in, the original occupants had already been driven out by the dwarves in the War of the Dwarves and Orcs, so it was standing empty; a perfect spot to insert our villain. Besides that, I also wanted to make sure you understood that we did not pick the title 'Gundabad' because we liked it. ;)

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Also: we thought we'd give you a little trailer for the next story we'll be writing!

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VO = Voice Over, [sound]

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[soft flute music]

VO (male): An ambitious king and queen…

fade up of two dark haired, scarlet clad Southrons standing close together in a stone chamber: a man (Harnwe) and a woman (Mavranor). Both are gazing at a map on a table between them.

VO: A royal elven messenger…

Fade up of two elves (Legolas and Meldir) walking through the grass; Legolas is laughing

VO: A Rohirrim and his family…

Fade up of Kelegalen, older now, standing on the edge of a wide plain, eyes narrowed against the wind as he watches something off-camera

VO: And a mysterious soldier from Gondor…

Fade up of two guards on a high wall top in Minas Tirith. One is Duurben, but the camera passes him to focus on the second man, whose back is turned

VO: From the far corners of Middle Earth they will come…

Wide pan of a long train of Southron migrants, Harwe at their head on a huge beast

VO: And unexpectedly…

[flute music ends]

Legolas running swiftly, his bow drawn [silence except for his breathing and his footsteps]

Kelegalen dropping the saddle on his horse [clink of tackle, horse grunts]

Close up on horse's hoof rising and striking the ground impatiently [the thud echoes]

Black

VO: They will meet.

[full music begins with a crash]

Flash of the Southron army dressed in scarlet and gold, charging in a phalanx of spears

Cut to Duurben fighting at night, his sword catching the moonlight

Cut to a horse rearing, eyes wide in terror

Cut to a Legolas and Meldir running

Cut to a close-up of a Rohirrim soldier's white face, staring off screen

Cut to Kelegalen turning swiftly, blood on his face

VO: Now, when the safety of an entire people is hanging in the balance…

Flash of a mother huddling down with her son, covering his ears with her hands

VO: There are only a few people able to halt the destruction…

Flash of a small group of Rohirrim, including the man, now in a dark cloak, and Legolas, hiding in the bushes, their weapons drawn

Flash of King Thengel standing in front of Edoras

VO: And one of them…

The man, still hooded, raises his bow as he adjusts his aim, and fires his arrow directly into the screen

Black

VO: Is not who he seems.

[end music]

Flash back to the first shot of the man on the wall top, looking over the battlements

Voice (off camera): Captain Thorongil?

The man (turning calmly around): Yes?

It is Aragorn

Black [flute music returns]

White text on a black background: Thorongil

Text fades out.

[music goes low]

VO (Legolas, laughingly): I believe you have quite enough extra names.

Fade up of Aragorn and Legolas sitting next to each other

Legolas: 'Aragorn', 'Estel', 'Strider' and now yet another one. When will it end?

Aragorn (dryly): This from someone whose species delights in naming and renaming everything they lay their eyes on.

Close-up on Legolas' look of disbelief

Black

White text on black background: Coming soon to FanFiction.net. 

Pretty soon that is. Like, maybe December if the authors write fast, but more likely early next year. Maybe as late as June, if they accidentally kill off Legolas and have to rewrite the whole story without him. (Hannah(Siri) interrupts: And since a certain Siri we all know got her lap top stepped on she's going to be handicapped for a while, so please be patient with us! :D ) 

'Soon' is kind of in the eye of the advertiser, isn't it…? Oh wait, this is still part of the trailer--

[music fades out]

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And to clarify the title: we named it that because we originally intended to have the story be only about Aragorn… only to discover that we just aren't capable of leaving out his best friend. So we decided we'd add Legolas for a few scenes… only to discover that we just weren't capable of limiting him that way either. So we admitted defeat and included him for the whole fic, along with (as you've briefly seen) several other familiar characters. But we didn't want to bother changing the title, so 'Thorongil' it remains, in spite of it's more inclusive nature. 

Thorongil is now in it's fifth chapter and the total chapter count according to our outline will be 21 (just so you know: Death or Despair had 17 chapters in the original outline). As we said: we're not sure when this will hit the boards, but will try to make it ASAOBSWP (As Soon As Our Busy Schedules Will Permit), and hope to see at least some of you there! 

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You've all been the best readers we could have asked for and we give you our heartiest thanks!!!

Namárië! For now… *cue ominous music*

- Sarah and Hannah (Siri)


End file.
